Sin'Nati
by Matobar
Summary: Cincinnati, once known as the Queen of the Old Northwest, has fallen. Can a new leader of the Raw Border return this city to its former glory? Or will the tide of evil prove to much, even for those destined for greatness. -On Hold
1. Chapter 1

Hellooooooo bro's! I have used the way of a pirate to obtain Word 2007, and I am happy about it! So, a few things to note! One, this does not mean I am ending Sheogorath's Madness. The next chapter is more than half done, and I'll be posting it once summer begins =3 Two, I love Fallout, and I will buy the new game as soon as it comes to meeeeee~ Three= I do live in this city, so any place that I blow up does not offend me, so it is all good. Four: I do in fact own Bethesda(false) so anything I write here is immediately cannon(false) and should be worshiped and praised forever after!(Not false)

Another customary thing I like to do is explain key concepts that I'm afraid may confuse people. In this case, I slyly changed the name of a mirelurk to a myrelurk. Ingenious =) The idea came from reading on vampires: the oldest, most powerful clans became known as vampyres, because they would always need to be burned at the stake! So switching from mire to myre signifies an increase in power! Hyuuuu~

Now then, as I will often shout. BACK TO WORK!

* * *

Does anyone even remember anymore? The way people lived before the bombs fell?

I wonder what our planet looks like. Out there in space.

How much an observer wouldhave seen it change.

What would our ancestors think of the people who pushed the button?

I'm sure some would've applauded them for their patriotism, their willingness to sacrifice anything for their countries.

Funny, isn't it? No one thinks of us as the U.S anymore. Except maybe the Enclave.

Does China still exist? Are there still Russians?

Or is everyone now just a human?

No, there are new titles to be had.

Raider.

Wastelander

Knight of Steel

I hear there's even a new wave of patriotism growing: the New California Republic.

Some legend about the Vault Dweller piecing together a shattered place

So now, they're growing, gaining followers, restoring order.

Of course, that's all far away.

For us, in the east

There is no protection

We have no sprawling web that binds us

Each settlement is on its own

Of course, that's always how it is

No use dwelling on that now, is there?

I need to get up

Groggily, groaning and sore, the man in the bed raised himself out of the fog in his mind. His neck was killing him, and he had a headache. Grumbling, he pushed his legs off the side of the bed and stood, swaying a little as the blood rush to his head caused a momentary blindness. "I hate it when that happens," the man mumbled as he wandered into his dingy bathroom. Looking in the oddly pristine mirror, he stared at the figure before him. What stared back was an oddly handsome young man, in his late teens. His face was slim, as was the rest of him, but it was also smooth. No stubble, no beard, no blemishes, save for a scar branching from his lip from an old fight with a ghoul. His eyes were a piercing green, though they were blocked somewhat by the glasses he placed on his face. His hair was a dark brown. It was mid-length, the bangs stopping before they reached his eyes. It was perfectly straight, though he didn't bother combing it. It was clean too, which was odd. Not many people took showers anymore.

His body was also mostly unmarked, with a few odd exceptions. His right arm bore the perfect outline of a Yao-Guai's bite imprint. The offending beast had been killed just before his arm had been removed from his body. He wore one of the beast's fangs around his neck as a reminder to always carry a backup weapon. The rest of him was pretty slim; he had no shortage of exercise, but the man's body refused to grow muscle. He wasn't too big as a result, even though he was about six feet in height. Sighing at his appearance, the man turned away from his mirror and used the toilet.

Now dressed in faded jeans from the pre-war era and a military issue green duster, the man returned to his bed-room and prepared himself for the day. The first order of business was finding his gun. Reaching under his bed, he grasped the cylindrical barrel of his favorite weapon. Retrieving the double-barreled shotgun from its resting-place, he ran a sentimental finger over the etching on the side of the weapon. It read 'Boom-Stick'. Finally ready, the man opened his door and stepped out into the world waiting before him.

But where was this world? Where is our story beginning? The surrounding area was known as Cincinnati. Before the end, it had been home to a substantial military presence, as well as several powerful private companies, such as RoBoCo, and Vault-Tech. As such, the area was a prime location for scavenging, and several private vaults, mostly created from Vault-Tech executives, had served to ensure a population of humans remained in the area after the crucible of war.

Cincinnati, or Sin'Nati as the locals now called it, also bordered the Ohio River. The irradiated body of water was good for two things: transportation, and mirelurk hunting. Before the war, the locals had constructed several concrete embankments along both sides of the river, which served to protect the city in times of flood. Today, they served to hold back a swarm of local mirelurks. These weren't your average blue-purple shrimp thing. The pollution that the various companies had pumped into the river had reacted badly with the radiation, resulting in a mire of tar-like sludge. Imagine microwaving a tub full of tar for a few weeks. Ships coming or going down the river had to have steel plating on their bellies, or risk being melted in the sludge. Amazingly, it supported a thriving myrelurk population. That anything could even live in the muck was beyond most people, but everyday myrelurks emerged from the ooze to scavenge prey further down the banks.

And what was a myrelurk? For one, it was quite large. Maybe the size of a mirelurk hunter even, or larger perhaps. Their second set of claws was fully developed, giving them four nasty snapping implements to impale you with. The toxic sludge was not the only reason ships armored their hulls. And their shells were like concrete! Nothing could puncture the (un)natural armor, not even a plasma rifle. The only shot was to go for its face. And so the embankments served another purpose, an easy way to get at their weak-point. The common method to hunting myrelurks was to drop a torch onto the crap on the surface of the water and let it burn. The startled creatures would try and climb out of their homes by way of the embankments, their faces pointed skyward, towards the waiting hunters. Free shots were then taken by brave individuals (no sarcasm) with special harpoons designed to fly straight. A rope attached to them would then be used to haul the often still-alive (why no sarcasm) and struggling creature up the embankment. They were then hauled to the nearest suspension bridge. There were many in downtown Cincinnati since the city was technically on both sides of the river, so there were plenty of places to fish. Once there, the myrelurk would hang from the harpoon until it died, and all the crap had fallen off its body. Then it was systematically stripped and harvested for maximum profit. Such was the lucrative industry that kept caps flowing into Sin'Nati.

How would one describe the city itself? Well, to the north had been the residential, suburban areas, along with business headquarters for the RoBoCo presence. Lots of scavenging here, the only actual settlers were hermits who wanted to live alone. South was downtown and the river, where most trade flowed. Goods included the impregnable myrelurk plates, as well as their oddly healthy meat (apparently their immune systems were over-active thanks to the crap, and managed to purge every impurity from their body.) On the other-end came armor and weapons and food-stuffs, and caps came from both sides. To the east and west lay uncharted territory, mostly gang-lands, warzones that few dared travel. To the north was desolation, miles of radioactive craters that had erased all existence. Thus, the river was truly the city's blackened, sick lifeline to the rest of the world.

What factions were alive in Sin'Nati? Well of course there was the local wildlife. Besides myrelurks, the local coyote population had mutated into a larger version of themselves. This new version had no fur whatsoever, and their claws had seemed to grow in replacement. Imagine a porcupine. Known as chimera, these monsters were quite clever, traveled in packs, and loved to ambush prey. Add to that your given mole-rats, ghouls, and the occasional large cicada. On top of this there were the traiditonal raiders, local gangs that had clawed their way into certain sections of the city. They threatened the caravans, killed innocents, blah blah blah. Then you had your Talon Company mercenaries and Regulators, bringing their war even to this far-off location. And there was even a Brotherhood of Steel presence in the old Union Terminal. They had just appeared there one-day, probably coming up from beneath the old subway tunnels. Where from, no one knew. However, more and more had followed, along with their pre-war technology. And so, the old museum was renovated and turned into their new home. Their behavior was typical of the Brotherhood: high and mighty superiority, aloofness, xenophobic.

But perhaps the greatest achievement was the fact that civilization remained in these wasted areas. Two major settlements had sprung up within Sin'Nati itself. Besides the Brotherhood presence at Union terminal, the main bastions of civilization were hunkered down in Carew tower, and what had been known as Great American Ballpark. The Passtime, as the settlement of the ballpark was known, was actually where most of the trade took place. For some odd reason, the original architects had neglected to build a wall on the side of the stadium that faced the river. What resulted, once the place had been renovated and restored somewhat, was a concrete fortress defensible on all sides but open to the river.

Trade was landed right at the bank and flowed into the center of Passtime, where there were dozens of tents and stalls of merchants pining their wares. In the stands stood a cobbled-together collection of steel plating, which designated private shops for merchants who did well enough for themselves to have reputation, where the goods flowed to them, instead of them having to stand in the bazaar to snatch what they could. Further up in the stands and on the outer shell that surrounded them were the expected stalls that housed residents, merchants or people who wanted to take advantage of the increased security. Large walkways connected the different levels outside the stadium stands, and the ones that led to the ground level were protected by walls of steel, barbed wire, and bullets when necessary. The ground level itself was home to a small shanty town of off-duty tradesmen and myrelurk hunters and other small-time workers. In times of emergency, the area would be evacuated into Passtime before the walkways were all sealed. There was no other way into the settlement.

At the top of Passtime were sniper nests and spotlights scavenged from the stadium lights and turned to point outside the fortress. They could turn on a swivel to follow a besieging mob, giving snipers a clear shot at night. Just below them rested the control box. Here, an enigmatic man known as the Umpire ran his business. He was in charge of security, and as such received a pretty sum from the merchants who plied their trade within his walls. The cameras throughout the compound gave him a birds-eye view of his kingdom, and there was rarely a situation within the settlement he was unaware of. He was a shrewd business man who allowed no slaves within his walls, for that would surely attract the attention of the Regulators. However, the Regulators themselves were also not allowed within Passtime, for where they went, Talon followed and inevitably blood was spilled. The Umpire did not like blood being spilled where he lived.

North of Passtime lay the northernmost bastion of civilization that stemmed from the black river, Raw Border. As its name implied, Raw border marked the abrupt edge of civilization in the area. To the north lay hermits, raiders, and nuclear fallout that broke Geiger counters. The tallest building in all of Sin'Nati, Raw Border commanded a view of the entire city, and t protected the only viable route south. All other streets in the city at some point led to Fountain Square, and that was heavily guarded by Raw Border's defenders. Home to seasoned wastelanders, scavengers, Regulators, and other armed groups, Raw Border held the line against the northern, western, and eastern chaos that sought to claim this city as theirs.

Not only did the tower provide a vantage for snipers, it also gave the residents access to the roofs of surrounding buildings. Strapped to the outside of the tower were several patchwork scaffolding bridges that could be dropped onto adjacent buildings, giving a daring scavenger unlimited access to the treasures within as long as the bridge remained. Currently, the bridges extended to the old Garfield Hotel on the far side of Fountain Square. Other than protection and scavenging, the tower afforded its residents use of the old radio antennas. One station was used by tradesmen to report rises and drops in prices of the different goods sold in Passtime. Another station reported deaths that had occurred on the previous day. Contrary to popular belief, this station was not on every day.

But the most famous station was one reserved for the leader, chief, CEO, President, Premier, el hefe, person in charge of Raw Border. Each day he reported on the jobs available for those who would take them, and the prices they paid. Most involved requests from individuals for a new fusion battery, or several pieces of scrap metal. A few were more high priority, such as protecting an expedition or discovering the fate of a lost individual (most times the worst case scenario occurred, sadly). But by far the highest priority were the requests by the leader himself. Every few weeks or so he would read off the name of some dangerous gang of raiders that had roamed too close to the city, and he would list their numbers and put a price on each head. He would always call the leader by name and give a special bonus for whoever killed him. It had grown to be a competition to see who could bag the most raiders. Surprisingly, few deaths resulted. People tended to be more careful when they wanted to see the caps falling into their hands.

This was the world that the man knew, where he had grown up. As he made his way out of his door, he stopped and remembered something. Quickly rushing back inside, he cursed himself for forgetting the molded myrelurk armor that was always on underneath his coat. Strapping the form-fitting piece of equipment on, he finally strode out of the room and down the hall, passing others who were waking up this morning. Just another fine spring morning in the Raw Border.

Having made his way to the radio room, the man nodded to the operator and was handed a microphone to speak into. The green light flashed, indicating it was time for him to speak. "My friends in Sin'Nati, I apprehensively inform you now that my father had abdicated the position of authority over Raw Border and has moved west towards the old city hall with his men. Don't worry, he'll be fine, he's stubborn enough t survive a few weeks out there. In response to this development, I am now in command of Raw Border and our defenses. Please do not fear any new changes that may occur, I do not wish to rule with an iron fist…" turning to look about, the man noticed all other speakers and radio operators had stopped working and were staring at him. This was big news. "…am I still on?" he asked the woman in charge of his terminal.

"Y-yes you are kid. Sir! I mean yes sir!" the employee floundered before ducking behind her terminal.

The man sighed and soldiered on. "The following jobs have been requested: Crazy Sam wants ten pieces of scrap metal for his statue to himself. Pay of eight caps per piece. Ellie Winzel wants to contact his son, who left with an expedition a week ago, and tell him that his wife has given birth to a baby girl. Payment of two-hundred caps for a returned message, ninety caps for knowledge of fate suffered. Four hundred caps for returning with Carl Winzel. An expedition is being formed to explore the old RoBoCo headquarters to try and recover any functioning robots. Payment of twelve caps every two hours, along with a bonus of two hundred caps upon completion of the contract. Finally, the raider gang known as the Blood Killers, simply ingeniously named, has claimed their eighth caravan this week. Their bounty has been raised to one-twenty caps a head, with nine heads in all. And their leader, who calls himself Stab, has four fifty on his head. That Is all for now Sin'Nati. Don't die on me," he told the listeners in parting, placing his mic on the table and stepping away from the staring eyes. Avoiding the questing gazes, he stepped into the elevator and pressed the ground-floor button. Time to see his father off.


	2. Chapter 2

Heeeeeeey bro's! Look I know it's all like "DUDE you can't have two chapters in one update that's crazy shit!" Well I updated Madness like 5 times at once so first of all getthefuckoutmyhouse. Second, I feel like two chapters out of the gate would make you readers very happy. So that is what I will do! Not be quiet and read my wonderful story like a good little interwebz user.

As they say in Berlin: Ich den ein Berliner. Which translates into Back to work! Or jelly donuts. I have no idea, I don't speak foreignese.

* * *

The man waited for the elevator to reach the bottom floor, wondering how soon it would be before someone came gunning for his head. His father had run the Raw Border for years, and under him most of the tenants seemed to be pretty civil. But the man did not trust people, and so he had his boomstick with him. His father did not share his lack of body mass: he was a very large man. His hair, which the man remembered had been black once, was now shot through with grey. The boy saw his father getting older and older before him each day.

Reaching the ground floor, he was not surprised at all to see his father still milling around in the lobby of the tower, probably waiting for him. "Dad!" the man called quite audibly, sounding happy-but-exasperated to see his father.

The man's father turned to see his son striding across the spacious room, and gave him a rueful smile. "You sure sounded official on the radio. I don't know why you were so worried," he said innocently.

"Quiet dad, you know exactly why I'm worried, armored, and carrying my boomstick," the man replied, still quite put out with this turn of events. "You could have announced the news yourself. Now everyone will think I'm grabbing for power."

"Yes, or I could've left without any warning at all. Strange how things didn't happen like that, isn't it?"

"Oh be quiet! Just stop speaking, you're making my head hurt!" the man spat venomously, ignoring the stares of the room's occupants.

"Derek, you will do fine. No one here will stand in your way, not with your track record," the father assured him, trying to leave on a good note.

"I'm seventeen years old goddammit! You're not going to tell me that I was meant for this! Killing lots of raiders does not a leader make!" The man was quite surprised that the conversation was upsetting him so much, however, he meant every word he volleyed at his father.

"The reason you end lives so well is because you can command your followers," his father offered soothingly. "Look, I'll send out a transmission in one week to confirm I've set up shop. If nothing's going the way you want it, come and find me, and we'll switch places. "

"Fine. Sorry dad, I'm just not used to so much happening like this…" the man apologized, as was his custom after getting into a heated argument. He wasn't one to hold grudges.

"Don't worry about it. Now then, if there's NOTHING ELSE!" his father shouted to the gathered men, who immediately snapped to attention. "Let's get on! Our destination is the old City Hall, we want to clear out the area for the Brotherhood." Amid grumblings and groans as equipment was prepared and hefted onto strong backs, a formation took hold as the brave souls gathered around the father. "Goodbye son, I'm leaving all this in good hands, trust me."

"Bye dad. I'll see you again soon, one way or the other," the man promised, smiling at his father despite the earlier argument.

"Of course you will!" the father promised in return, before unceremoniously shuffling out of the lobby, his retinue of men and women following behind. The man followed behind them, watching as they made their wait past the reinforced steel doors into the gauntlet of Fountain Square. The idea was to secure the surrounding area of the Old City Hall as a waypoint for those who wished to get to Union Center. There were no metro tunnels in Cincinnati, so travel was strictly above ground, through the maze of cleared roads. Since his dad planned to be there awhile, the idea was that he would clear out a section of the street that was almost a beeline to the Union Terminal. Before, the only way through was to get up onto the Roebling bridge and walk along the highway. That often involved death-defying leaps and scrabbling across wide open gaps to reach them. Hopefully this would allow the brave few who dealt with the Brotherhood to do so in relative safety. Besides that, the Old City Hall was the perfect place to plug a few gaps that Raw Border could not cover: namely, the riverbank itself. Raiders crazy enough could climb down the embankments and take their chances with the myrelurks for a chance to nab a golden-goose rivercraft. There had already been several casualties, and this was the father's way of solving the problem.

"Bye dad…" the man, Derek, whispered, as the doors closed before him. Turning around, his eye twitched slightly as several people approached him. "And the madness, it cometh again…"

First to reach him was a wealthy merchant that resided in the tower. He purchased necessities on behalf of the residents in exchange for a free tenement. "Good Sir Derek, I come to you humble and-"

"Please, skip the nonsense. I'll have eight of you breathing down my neck in the next twelve seconds. State your piece."

"A-as you wish sir. As you know, my tenement states that I procure your supplies, and in-"

"In exchange you get to mooch. Why, do you want a crown and scepter as well?" Derek demanded, a little put out by the merchant's condescending nature.

"N-no, I only want to be sure that the terms were clearly defined-"he began again.

"Yes yes you can stay. Anything else?" the new leader interrogated.

"No good sir. I am sorry to be a bother good sir," the merchant spouted, bowing again and again as he retreated hastily.

Next up to bat was the tower's bar and inn proprietor, a man named Owner. The inn was used for those who didn't have a permanent tenement, which was nearly everyone. He charged next to nothing, but still managed to make a killing between selling the space and his bar. "Out with it, I haven't the time."

The bar owner himself was a mountain of a man, over seven feet tall, with bronze skin and a thick accent that Derek would swear was thicker than necessary. "Your father promised a stable environment to do business, I can't work this way. Do you know he-"

"Yes I know the deal you and my father had, and I intend to keep it alive," the man retorted, breaking off the large man's angry tirade. Something odd he noticed, however, was that Owner's hand had very flaky skin. Almost as if-

"And yet you have neglected to remember that my business will suffer for this!" continued the man-mountain.

"If you used your head instead of your rear end to speak, you'd know more instability means more people will be drinking your liquor and renting your nice safe rooms," Derek responded not above petty insults when he thought the person speaking was an asshat.

"And if you had any experience running anything ever, you'd know that instability is bad for business. People will leave thanks to your father's decision to leave. It's a chain reaction!" Owner retorted, openly mocking both Derek and his father.

"Okay, riddle me this oh wise proprietor. Where will the people go? Passtime? There's no room in their walls! East and west and north are no-man's land, and I dare you to find me three people in the whole tower that could afford travel to Louisville, or anyone willing to live in The Pitt. There isn't anywhere else!" the man stated calmly, despite the question of his authority. "Now goodbye, you have a struggling business to run."

Outrage on his face, Owner turned and left, striding away quickly to make his indignity apparent.

The next person looking for a handout was the local Regulator leader. He was a young man, probably in his late twenties. That attested to his skill with the lever-action rifle on his back. He had a mop of black hair on his head, and blue eyes that were a tad hazy. However, he had a quick wit and even quicker reflexes, so the person who believed him out of action was dead wrong, literally. "Greetings. Are you-"

"Yes I'm aware of your arrangement with my father and no I don't want to change anything. Next!"

"-okay out here, or did you want to speak inside?" the Regulator finished, unperturbed.

"Oh, right. No, we can speak here. Sorry, though, things aren't normal right now," Derek apologized, genuinely remorseful.

The Regulator waved the comment away and pressed on. "Well then, since you know about our current arrangement with Raw Border, you'd know we aren't as active in the area as we'd like."

The man nodded: this was very true. Currently, the Regulators were permitted to accept local jobs and provide services, like any other local tenant in Sin'Nati. However, they were not allowed to establish a base of operations in the region, for fear of Talon Company following suit. The father did not want a faction war occurring where he could prevent it. Currently, Talon Company also accepted and completed jobs for money (No complaints about their services yet) and whatever fighting did occur between the rival groups happened without anyone else knowing about it. "Yes, I know all about that," Derek replied, slightly wary.

"Then you'd like to know that Talon Company has a de facto headquarters in the old theater up on Mt. Adams," the mercenary stated matter-of-factly.

Derek, who had been looking for someone in particular, whipped his head around to face the hardened gunman. "Is what you're telling me true?" he demanded.

"I scouted it myself. They're moving terminals, weapons, and supplies there from Passtime. They paid off a few caravans to ferry their supplies. Off the books of course, the Umpire has no idea. He shares your… dislike of violence."

Derek crossed his arms and considered the situation. The easiest way would just be to kill the Talon Company. But then that would leave the corrupt merchants, who would certainly raise hell, or worse, find new clients. Another option would be to kill the caravaners who were dropping supplies off before they managed to deliver them. However, the Umpire would be upset if his caravans began getting killed by Raw Border's sometimes less-than-civil tenants, and a lack of supplies would certainly tip off the Talons. "Here's an idea. How badly do your Regulators want a base up here?" he asked the mercenary.

"On a scale of one to ten?" he responded, curious about this new line of questioning.

"Sure."

"Twelve."

* * *

Derek sighed heavily and sat down in his chair in his new office. "Well stuff is occurrin', that's for sure."

"You make it seem like a bad thing," a mischievous voice behind him chirped.

"Of course it is!" the man insisted, not turning around. "Why am I saddled with this crap?"

"Because you're the best man for the job? Why else?" the voice responded innocently.

"Probably because God hates me."

"God doesn't hate you. If he did, I wouldn't be here," came the elated response.

"I think you have that backwards," he replied miserably.

"Oh stop, you know you love me," the voice pestered.

"Just a little bit," he admitted. "Now stop hiding."

"As you wish sire," the cooing voice responded. Its owner marched around to present herself before the new leader of Raw Border. Frankly, her appearance left something to be desired. She was unintimidating, only barely above five feet in height. Her blond hair was straight and bright, and it fell to the small of her back. Though currently she had it tied in a ponytail so it didn't get in her way. Her blue eyes were of keen intelligence, and her smile was wide and truthful. She gave a small growl at him as he looked her over.

"Well Olivia, you're certainly very chipper today. Something on your mind?"

"I was just thinking about the ancient Greeks. You remember those books we used to read? What did the fates always tell Uranus?"

"_The son shall surpass the father_, Derek quoted effortlessly. "I know I know, whatever possessed him to think-"

"-that you were ready made him undoubtedly insane. To think that you could possibly amount to something, is pure fantasy," the girl finished for him sarcastically.

"That's not what I meant…" he began, before sighing and shutting up. "I guess, all I can do now is make the best of it. I'll never live it down if I step away from this now."

"That's a good boy. Now then, what's our first order of business?" Olivia demanded of her new commander. "What shall we do first?"

Rubbing his temples, the _young_ man wracked his brain for ideas. "The first thing would have to be a show of force. Something I can do to send the message of 'Don't fuck with me' to everyone else. Sort of cementing my rise to power and influence."

"I hear there's a turf war going on between some raiders and a pack of Chimera up by Washington park. Should we grab Mato and go?"She asked, sounding excited at the prospect of some action.

Derek shook his head. "Let him sleep, those Yao-Guai hunts are brutal. We can handle this ourselves. Go get your crap and we'll meet down at the lobby in eight minutes."

"Fine! See you there!" Olivia chirped, skipping off."

"When I come back, I need a cold shower," Derek told himself, watching her bounce.

* * *

After trekking through the abandoned maze of streets that was Cincinnati, and moving through several buildings that bypassed concrete barricades altogether, the pain finally came upon what looked to be a battlefield. Blood was everywhere, as were the remains of what appeared to be humans. The debris in the area, mostly scraps of armor and crude weapons, proved that these had once been raiders. "Well, one side is done with. But where are those Chimera?" Derek asked aloud, his boomstick cocked and ready to fire.

"Maybe they regrouped to lick their wounds," Olivia suggested, her SMG cocked and ready. The pair were in a concrete basin, the streets blocked except for two exits, one behind them, the other to their left. The collapsed buildings served to surround them from all other directions. No sooner had Olivia spoken than several chimera appeared on top of these buildings, growling and snapping their jaws at the intruders. "Or… not."

"Olivia, come over here behind me," Derek ordered, slowly backing away towards the center of the basin. "If you see one of them make the slightest movement, you tell me right away," he ordered.

"Yes sir," came the shaken response. The pair stood back to back, each counting the enemies they could see. Derek counted four, Olivia counted another three. So there were seven large, pointy creatures in total. Not exactly the greatest of odds.

"Olivia, let's start back to the streets. Maybe they'll let us go." Cautiously, both of them took baby steps towards the opening in the debris that would return them to Fountain Square, neither one turning away from the feral beasts that surrounded them. All at once, however, Olivia stopped in her tracks, letting Derek bump into her. "Olivia, we can't do this now. We need to move, fast!" Derek pressed, desperation in his voice.

"We can't… look…" came the subdued reply. A lower, more guttural growl than a Chimera accompanied her warning.

Glancing at their means of escape, a knot formed in Derek's stomach when he spotted the Yao-Guai that was now between them and safety. "Fuck!" he hissed. "I think we have to fight our way out."

"No kidding," Olivia responded, raising her SMG at the nearest Chimera.

"Don't fire, let them come to us!" he whispered hurriedly. "Leave the Yao-Guai for last: it will take down one or two of-" Suddenly, with a challenging howl, one of the largest Chimera he'd ever seen charged forward and leapt off the concrete barriers, its lunge aimed straight at him. "Here they come!" he warned, before stepping forward to meet the animal's challenge. Calmly standing before the rapidly descending monster, he suddenly sidestepped and yelled "Batter up!"swinging a long titanium crowbar and catching the beast on the side of the head, eliciting a sickening crunch and pained yelp from his opponent. Not skipping a beat, he turned and blasted the monster point-blank with his boomstick, boring two large holes in its ribcage. "And it's good!"

Olivia had remained at his back, and was peppering any approaching chimera with bullets. So far, one had already fallen, and two others were sporting several bullet holes between them. Suddenly three Chimera charged her at once, and her SMG was not going to hold them all back. Squeezing the trigger to keep her fire up, the girl drew her Ripper and revved the small motor, then charged forward and sliced through the eyes of one of her attackers. The beast howled in pain and lashed out, catching another of its comrades in the shoulder. The assaulted creature turned and lashed out in retaliation, and suddenly both were locked in a fight to the death. That just left the one who wasn't blind or distracted by friendly fire to get finished off by plentiful SMG holes.

Boomstick reloded, Derek twisted and fired almost subconsciously, his shells knocking a Chimera off the struggling Yao-Guai, it landed dead next to the struggling mass of flesh and claws. The one remaining Chimera could not keep the Yao-Guai pinned and was upended, then pinned itself and swiftly killed. The only one unaccounted for was disemboweled already by the mutated bear. "Well then, now we have one more problem to deal with," Derek mused, twirling his crowbar idly.

* * *

Well bro's, there you have it, my first two chapters of good awesomeness. Review and junk and I can make stuff more better! Also, I have a few questions for you the readers. PM me for details.


	3. Chapter 3

Hey bros (and people who tell me they're my bro but are really lying just to get some) what's up? Hopefully I can finish this for you by Tuesday, but maybe not.(I didn't, I have failed you yet again my bros.) I have school, among other things. But only a few days left! X3 So hopefully without further ado:

LET'S GET BACK TO WORK!

Derek twirled his crowbar idly and stared at the Yao-Guai. "Well, come on you ugly thing, we need to get back home sooner or later. Just charge us so I can kill you." But the mutant didn't seem interested in the pair of humans at all. It seemed much more at ease ripping the flesh off of the Chimera it had killed and digging in. It was a gruesome sight, the large beast chomping mouthfuls of dark meat off of the dead animal. But it was distracted for the moment, and that was what Derek needed to gain time to think. He strode over to Olivia, who was reloading her SMG. "Listen short stuff: Yao-Guai will attack most creatures on sight: the fact that we're not on its list is nothing short of a miracle. It's possible this one is smart enough to see we're friendly, or maybe it's just meat hungry more than it is blood hungry. Either way, it's giving us a chance to prepare ourselves for what happens," he told her.

* * *

"So what's the plan boss?" Olivia asked, putting away her gun and beginning to clean her Ripper.

"The first order of business should be to collect the heads of those dead raiders. Maybe skin a few of the Chimera as well: something to prove we did the work. Plus, more caps is never a bad thing," he told her.

"But you're getting paid tons of money from all the major tenants of the tower!" she protested.

"Okay, so I like to scavenge and sell whatever I can get my hands on!" he retorted. "I'm neurotic about not being wasteful, thank you very much for mocking my illness! You will burn for it… Turner's," he told her, knocking her short stature.

"Hey! You told me you liked short girls!" she protested again.

"Only when they're not mocking me," Derek pretend-sulked. "Now watch the bear and I'll get to work." Over the next several minutes, Derek rushed around the concrete basin and decapitated/stored any raider skull he could find. The unfortunate hat-fillers found their way into a large sack, followed by the pointy skins of the Chimera that had killed them. What space was left was filled with the meat of the Chimera that was now open to the elements. After tying the sack at the neck and hefting it, Derek turned to notice that Olivia and the bear-thing were closer than the last time he had glanced at them. Alarmingly closer. As in, she was touching it! "Olivia! Are you sure that's safe?" he demanded, whipping out his boomstick and stepping to the left for a clear shot at it.

The Yao-Guai growled and glared at him, staring down the offending weapon. Olivia shifted so that she was standing in Derek's line of shot, then turned and glared at him. "Don't shoot our friend Derek!"

The young man scoffed and holstered his boomstick, but kept his crowbar at the ready. "Fine, I'll just club it to death," he asserted, striding forward.

Olivia stubbornly kept herself in harm's way, both by keeping between Derek and the Yao-Guai, and by being close to the creature at all. "_She_ does not need to be killed, she needs to be thanked," was the surprising response.

"Olivia, what's to stop…_her_… from eating us the moment our backs are turned?" Derek demanded, glaring at the ugly creature, then staring at the treatment it was getting: she was actually petting the thing! Rubbing its snout, scratching its… well, those spire-thingies. "Oh come on Olivia! This is a dangerous wild animal we're dealing with here!"

"The only thing dangerous here is you," Olivia argued. "You and your prejudice."

"If you remember correctly, the last Yao-Guai we met almost killed us! I have the scar on my arm to prove it!" he responded, exasperated. "Every time we meet local wildlife, it tries to kill us!"

"Not this time," the girl cooed, kissing the mutant's snout. "She just wants some looove. Don't you? Don't you want some looove?" Olivia's voice grew into a babying momma's voice, and apparently the Yao-Guai loved it. Her ears perked up, and she attempted to lick Olivia's face with a black, barbed tongue. "Whoa there girl, easy now," she stammered, stepping away from the show of affection. "Those will rip my face right off. You don't want to hurt momma do you? Ooof course not!"

Derek groaned and sat down, turning away from the sorry sight before him. 'When you die, I won't save you," he grumbled at his partner.

* * *

Despite his constant, adamant protests, somehow Derek allowed Olivia to keep her new pet. ""Where will she stay? What does she even eat? Can you house train her?" were all viable questions that Olivia waved away as unimportant. "At least tell me you have a name for her!" he demanded.

"Ummm… how about Panama!"

"Panama? What the heck is that?" he really didn't sound upset anymore, he was just taking it all in stride. Better for his migraines that way.

"Oh silly, you know what it is! The archives talked about it! It was a North American country that was south of the old U.S."

"You mean Mexico."

"No, Panama!'

"So you mean to tell me you name a giant walking tank-bear-spike-thing after a southern North American country that isn't even Mexico?"

"Mmm, yup!"

"You know, just because you're three years my senior doesn't mean you get to make all the decisions!"

"We could name her Kitty instead!"

"Panama it is!" he asserted enthusiastically, defeated yet again.

* * *

The puny creatures had been following her for close to an hour. After leaving all the blood and carrion, she had decided to travel north, to what had been her den. She had left her litter of cubs for food, and had returned to find them all killed and devoured! Fraught with fury, she had tracked the pack of Chimera to T**heir **den, and had come upon then about to devour more defenseless creatures! She growled again just thinking of it, though then the rage had blinded her, as it often did to her kind. She had sought only to kill them, even with their numbers. She had almost been killed herself, though the tall, noisy stick creature had used its clap-maker to save her from the final blow. These small creatures were somebody's' cubs as well, and she wasn't going to let them die on her watch.

* * *

"Okay, where is she taking us? Oy! Panama! Do we have a destination?" Derek demanded, suddenly amazed he was talking to the creature. "I must be off the deep end…" he muttered, picking his way through rubble and slipping down into a caved-in hole, probably the remains of a storage basement. "Why I bother to put up with-"

"Derek!" Olivia hissed from the darkness ahead of him. "Stop whining and come see this!"

Grumbling, the young man stepped into the dim opening and turned up his Pip-Boy light. "Wow…" was all he could manage as he surveyed the carnage before him. Strewn about the cave were the body parts of several Yao-Guai cubs. From the looks of it, there had been about four in the litter. What remained of their bodies bore gnaw-marks, evidence of rival animals raiding the den for food. "Olivia, look at those scratch marks on that one's-" he stopped, a tad sickened, "on that one. Looks like a Chimera knocked it over. There's even a few claws left in the hide…"

"Was it the same Chimera we killed?" Olivia wondered aloud, striding back and forth collecting all the pieces.

"…I wouldn't doubt it. Yao-Guai are always fiercely protective of their young. Revenge killing wouldn't be out of the question." Derek turned to Panama and stared at her, curious. "Just how smart are you?"

"Hush child," Olivia commanded. "We're going to burn these cubs, as is proper. Now help a defenseless girl pick up the icky icky gore."

After cremating the remains of Panama's litter, the daring duo, now arguably a trio, started their long trek back to the Carew Tower and Raw Border. Surprisingly, Panama had tried to lift the sack into her mouth. Derek had stopped her before the thing had ripped, and instead tied it to her neck. "At least we get a pack-mule," he said to himself, though the creature did growl at him. Startled, he fell back and scrambled away from the offended beast of burden. "S-sorry!" he apologized.

* * *

After a largely uneventful patrol through the downtown area, the trio made their way back to fountain square. Derek had the good sense to stop and think of a plan to tell the snipers on lookout duty that the animal following them was friendly. "Okay, so how will we do this?" he asked Olivia and Panama, eyeing them both skeptically.

"We could tie a piece of Chimera skin around her neck," Olivia suggested.

"Unhygienic and smelly. Perfect!" was Derek's response. After carving up a piece of the skin and stitching it to some of the scraps of armor they had taken from the raiders, Olivia had successfully fashioned a collar of-sorts that was looped around Panama's neck. The result was actually pretty effective: no one would mistake the Yao-Guai for a wild animal at least.

"Now that that is over and done with, can we go home now? I want to sleeeep!"Olivia complained.

"Fine, sure, let's just get everything put away an-" a mechanical humming noise interrupted Derek's orders, and he spun to see a figure rapidly moving toward them. "Oh, crap. Mato!"

Speeding toward them was Derek's own personal (he had built the damn thing) sentry bot, Mato had been little more than a rusted-out shell that housed his primary systems before being found by Derek's father. Over a period of two years, Derek had collected the necessary parts to restore his limbs to working order (Myrelurk shell was a great steel replacement). The result was a sturdy, reliable substitute for a tank. "Mato, stand down," ordered Derek in a panicked voice.

"Stress levels above normal parameters detected. Enemy physiology assumed source. Recommended course of action: destroy target," whirred the machine, leveling its precision gatling laser at Panama. The Yao-Guai growled out a challenge and planted herself firmly in the line of fire. She wasn't backing down from this threat.

Looking much too calm in response to this turn of events, Olivia stepped delicately into Mato's line of fire. "Stand down you silly machine," she cooed, giggling absurdly at her own danger, "this is our friend Panama. She rescued us."

Mato whirred, then zoomed forward and focused its infared beam on Panama's face and neck. "Yao-Guai physiology detected. User input necessary: Yao-Guai are friendly?" The startled animal swiped at the invasive machine, which quickly switched into reverse to avoid the blow.

"Negative, Yao-Guai physiology is to remain hostile. Find a distinguishing characteristic," ordered Derek, relieved that his creation may not end up killing them all in the near future.

Mato buzzed, then wheeled around to scan Panama's neck once more. "Distinguishing object detected on hostile physiology. User input necessary: distinguishing object designates friendly physiology?"

"Affirmative. The distinguishing feature, designated Panama," Derek ordered in clear, succinct language, "is overriding of enemy physiology. Confirm input."

Mato's systems buzzed as he accepted the command. "Input confirmed: Friendly Panama detected and is now under this system's protection."

"Well I've never tried that before," Derek admitted, patting his robot on the head. "Okay Mato, take us home."

"At least we know the collar works!" Olivia chirped.

After the tense standoff with the security drone, Panama's reception at Raw Border seemed almost jovial. After it was explained to the gate-guards that Panama was apparently a freak among freaks of nature and did not want to kill everyone, she was allowed in. Everyone else just assumed that, if the gate-guards hadn't fired any shots, and the creature was surrounded by Derek, Olivia, and Mato (especially Mato) and not full of holes, then it must not be a threat. And just like that, Panama was effectively made a member of Carew Tower's society. Not bad for an afternoon's work.

* * *

A word about the inner-workings of Raw Border. Past the stainless steel gate and concrete defenses is a constant power-struggle for control. But no one was killed within these defenses. There would be no point in having them if everyone inside was just seconds away from assassination. So the inhabitants had settled on a cop-out long ago. If you were the strongest, you were on top. Normally, this meant killing your competition. But again, no point if there was no-one left to rule over. The earth's population wasn't exactly exploding. People in Raw Border settled for showing off their skill. If the boss wanted a job complete, the first to do it would get the recognition.

Say, for example, two men want to prove who should be in-charge of a particular group of wastelanders living in the tower (happens often enough.) They both listen one morning to the leader reading off the bounties, and see there's a request to kill off a troublesome group of bandits. So, they both go out and get to work. Whoever kills the most bandits, or the leader, or some combination of the two gets most of the credit, right? Of course he does! So, the winner makes the biggest impression upon the gang of scavengers, so they pick him to be their leader!

This is how things get done in Raw Border, and has been for as long as most residents can remember. The father killed off a fucking army of raiders (no one knows how, and no one is brave enough to ask) so he was named leader-chief-headman-ruler-for-all-eternity of the tower. With his absence, the power vacuum is almost palpable, and certainly some dissatisfied customers will soon come out of the woodwork, demanding that they get theirs.

Keep in mind, however, that this is by no means a perfect system. Humans are not predictable, and rarely will all of the sheep blindly follow the herd, so to speak. Most often, two long-time rivals will simply grow tired of each-other's power games. So, they go out west for one last round to-end-all-rounds. Always, one challenger will return and assure the tenants of the other's demise. So far, no one has been proven wrong.

This grand scheme of things is Derek's motivation for foraging out into the wastes. No one likes a weak leader, and there is no shortage of strong replacements in a place like Derek's tower home. So, there would be challenges to undertake in the future for him. But for now, a little show of force would suffice. Thus, Derek heaved his sack of heads and skins and armor scraps onto the bounty-claim desk, then walked around to the other side and started counting out his earnings. Normally, a portion would go into a separate box that the current leader collected. However, since he had an 'in' of sorts with that crazy bastard, he just kept all of the caps for himself.

Business done, Derek's next job was to figure out where in all hell Panama was supposed to sleep. "You're no help!" he cried after a retreating Olivia. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath as he turned to the large animal. "No going inside the tower for you," he mused, equally to himself and the creature.

But the bear wasn't really paying attention to him, and was much more interested in the myrelurk meat being pulled through the steel doors. "Fine," Derek allowed, patting her side in what could've passed for affection. "Go munch. Tell them I'll pay for whatever she eats!" he called the shippers who looked around, startled. Almost like she understood, Panama hefted herself onto all four feet and padded towards the now-quivering shippers.

Finally, his work done, the Yao-Guai roaming freely in the commons outside his tower, and Olivia nowhere to be seen, Derek pronounced his day finished. Indeed, the sun was setting, and soon the scaffold-bridge lights and the tower lights would come on and illuminate Fountain Square. Making his way back to his room, Derek paused near a particularly dim hallway. "Come out," he called, only half-expecting anyone to actually respond.

Much to his surprise, several intimidating individuals stepped out of the shadows to his left, all wearing the same purple-black armor of Talon Company. "How did you know we were waiting?" demanded their leader, who's armor bore a red border that split the purple and black.

"I didn't, but when you stepped out of the shadows it kind-of gave something away," Derek told him truthfully, leaning on his crowbar as the picture of nonchalance.

"The Talon Company demands a word about our future employment," responded the arrogant man.

"Okay, two things. One, you do not _demand_ anything in **my** tower," Derek told him, putting authority into his voice. "Second, as I told your Regulator friends, things will be as they always have been: you both will seek out jobs and contracts on an individual basis. No wars will be fought within these walls."

"Boy, you will not stand in the way of my superio-" was all the farther the man got before Derek's boomstick was pointed in his face.

"One more word of superior authority over **my** tower and I will personally throw you **out** said tower. Through a window. Then I will tell your _superior authority_ that the Regulators will be receiving very accommodating deals within my walls. Now Get! Out! My sight!"

Stammering, grasping for dignity, the Talon leader motioned for his men to move away from the angry Derek. The retreating mercenaries mumbled threats and promises of vengeance to the young man. Sighing, Derek pulled out two shells and loaded the boomstick. "Good thing they're idiots."

"Yep, a very good thing," mused a voice behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey dudes and bros of all different kinds! So, here I am, back at the lake, and my neck is killing me from tubing (but I'm better off, my brother smashed into the water and broke his nose (ooooowwwww)). So, we're tired, I have an excuse to write, so here I am making another story for you! My awesome readers! **Also, remember to PM me, I have an important question to ask the readers! **Especially the Author of another fanfic that is promising to be epic: The Bluegrass Wasteland! Be sure to check it out!

And now, as they say in the Deep South (Maryland): BACK TO WORK!

Derek turned, and smirked slightly as he kept his gun pointed, straight at the man before him. "I told your friends to leave, why are you here?"

The figure before him was casually dressed: Myrelurk gauntlets, but besides that he wore Brahmin skins and a purple vest with a Talon Company symbol sewed into it. His face was pockmarked with scratches and scars, but his white eyes were alert, and his white hair was straight and very clean. "I'm insurance. I told my commanders that threatening you would do no good, but do they listen? Of course not." His voice was smooth, like oiled glass.

"So you're here to patch things up with the paranoid new leader in case random threats don't do the job," Derek surmised, utterly bored now.

"Pretty much. Would you like to talk business?" the strange man asked calmly.

"Eh, sure. I could care less who does what, as long as I stop getting bothered," Derek answered, leaning on his crowbar again.

"Fine. Is here all right?" the stranger asked, looking around for a door or something to keep out prying eyes and listening ears.

"Anything we discuss will eventually become public knowledge. I don't care who hears us," Derek responded. "Just, say your piece."

"As you wish," the scarred man acquiesced. "I come here representing the Old Northwest branch of Talon Company. My job is to put all the resources my organization is willing to offer on the table, and to facilitate negotiations. If at any point you wish to bow out of-"

"Skip it, and get to the haggling," Derek sighed, leaning against the wall. His crowbar remained in his left hand.

"As you wish," was the reply, still cordial. "Sir, to be short, my organization is willing to offer you the position of a Company Garrison."

"And that means…?" prompted an unimpressed young man.

"Look around you, for a moment. We are in what is possibly the most well secured settlement I've ever been inside, and that _is_ saying something. To our flanks lay unending tribal warfare, and to our north is a deep trench of nuclear craters, beyond unlimited scavenging from the RobCo headquarters and Vault-Tech vaults." Arms spread wide, the man began to gesture grandly towards the areas he spoke of.

"I know all that," Derek told him plainly. "I've lived here for as long as I can remember, you're stating the obvious."

"All right, think of it this way. The name of your settlement could not be more apt. Raw Border is the last bastion of civilization before an uncivilized frontier. This is what Talon Company needs. My superiors think your settlement is the perfect spot to restore order, to show those that need to see just how powerful we are!" he pressed excitedly. "Think of it: Talon Company moves in, and your borders expand, you establish new settlements, and the rule of law returns to the area! We'd be seen as liberators!"

"Or, you end up taking advantage of my hospitality to take over my tower, kill those who oppose you, and suck in all the money that comes up the Ohio. Don't think the Umpire and I are blind to what your Company is guilty of: word travels up the river every day about what you people are doing in Balto!" Baltimore, or Balto, had been a peaceful settlement that had retained many secrets of pre-war medicine. However, Talon-Company had moved in, and, under the guise of keeping order, had removed many of the area's leaders, and was currently herding off rebellious sections of the population to the Pitt.

"We cannot help that some of our commanders are more… aggressive than others. However, considering the ability of your local residents, you can rest assured that any Talon Leader operating from here will be advised that he is walking on eggshells." The man's explanation was smooth as silk, no hesitation or panic in his flawed demeanor or seductive voice.

Derek yawned, then ran a hand through his hair. "Yes, well, I don't really care who wins at this point, you or the Regulators. You go back to your superiors and tell them this: I do not negotiate with people who disobey my rules, and the Umpire even more so."

"Sir, I do not-"

"Save! It!" Derek warned, raising his crowbar and pointing out one of the windows, to the old Mt. Adams. "My scouts have told me you are setting up a base there. That is well within my area of influence, and I still have the original copy of the agreement _you_ people signed with the leaders of Raw Border **and** Passtime concerning your actions here."

"I can assure you-"

"If you want me to consider what you have told me: you will tell your superiors to remove the base before, oh I don't know, someone mistakes it for a raider outpost and it's destroyed." Derek was no longer bored, he was all business. "Now, if there is nothing further-"he was cut off by the stranger's quick jab to his ribcage.

"You will **not** stand in our way boy!" hissed the negotiator-turned-assassin, all pretenses gone. He jabbed again at Derek's ribs, but Derek was able to back away from the blow, still stunned from the first strike.

"Such arrogance. Is there **no** subtlety within your company?" demanded the young man, swinging his crowbar towards the assassin's face.

"Silence!" the assassin demanded, blocking the blow with his gauntlets. The man was quick and precise, and struck three times at Derek, who managed to block two of the blows, but took a hit to the jaw.

Grunting and tasting blood, he responded by kicking out with his left leg and nailing his opponent in the side, forcing him to double over for breath. "No one ever expects a left-sided kick" he explained to the gasping assassin before giving him a thorough beating. At the end, the attacker was moaning in pain, and his body was scarred enough to match his face. "No one attacks me in my own tower either," Derek gloated, before knocking the poor man out with a blow to the head.

A soft clapping of hands sounded from Derek, and he twisted to find the Regulator leader lounging against the wall, still applauding. "Well done, very well done. Very few can take down a trained Talon assassin in hand-to-hand combat. I'm very impressed."

Derek shrugged, then spat some blood out of his mouth. "It was a fluke: he thought I would be stunned, so I caught him doubly off-guard. He was too arrogant to think a kid would put up much of a fight."

"You could tell all of that by looking at him?" the Regulator inquired, leaning down to observe the poor soul.

"Story of my life," Derek responded.

The mercenary chuckled and handed a sheaf of papers to the young man. "Well then, here's all of the information you asked for. Names and goods for each of the dirty merchants, and their associates and friends from other settlements."

"You work fast," Derek announced, impressed. "This is very thorough too," he added, leafing through the papers.

"We were prepared, so-to-speak," the Regulator confessed.

"I see. Ever the strategist. Well, it looks like my decision has been made for me. Do me a favor and take care of this man for the night will you? Tomorrow, we'll bring him and this evidence before the Umpire and figure out the proper course of action." Derek looked on as the Regulator hefted the limp assassin over his shoulder and started down the hallway, to meet up with more Regulators most likely. "By the way, what's your name?" he called after the man.

"Justice," was the reply.

"Well, now I can hopefully go to bed," Derek mused to himself, starting off once again down the dim hallway.

Of course, the young man is not that lucky. In this case, it was because he discovered a certain small blonde woman wrapped up in the arms, and lips, of a very happy looking wastelander. Sighing, he stepped around the scene and continued on to his room. "Thanks for keeping me up again Olivia" he said as he passed the pair before hurrying on, not stopping to see if he'd even been heard.

And so the day ended with the young man drifting off to sleep as he sat on the edge of his open window. After calling himself worthless for the hundredth time, he finally closed his eyes. The tears remained on his sleeping face, and it was a wonder he didn't fall from his perch.

* * *

The next day began much the same as the previous day. The only difference: it started from a window instead of a bed. Tired and sore, he leaned back and fell onto the hard tile, groaning from pains throughout his body. "I think my jaw's broken..." he mumbled, trudging into the bathroom.

Once the heat from the shower water had soothed his aching everything, he stepped out of the stall and dried off, before putting his armor, pants, and duster on. A sneaky grin on his face, he strapped a pair of Myrelurk gauntlets to his wrists beneath his duster before rolling up the sleeves. "Well they fit. Thank you nameless assassin!"

* * *

Working his way through the halls where other people were just starting to wake up, Derek stopped to stare when he spotted a half-naked Olivia leaning against her door. "Morning," she said, looking up at him.

Derek just shook his head and walked on, too fed up at the moment to care. "Morning," he mumbled in her general direction, purposefully looking away. His next stop was the radio tower.

* * *

"…Winzel has sent a message back with the scavenger, saying he will be returning upon completion of the expedition and receiving his payment. 200 caps rewarded to… Firebird? Seriously? Okay, someone is getting canned over this," Derek spoke into his mike, as all the listeners could hear the jubilant laughter from the radio room. "Next on the list: The Blood Stabbers have been thinned to three heads and a leader, thanks to some trigger-happy Regulators. Remember kids, there's still one-twenty caps for every head, and Stab nets you another four-fifty. Okay, the final order of business. There will be a _combat exercise_ taking place in Mt. Adams later today. This will involve any member of the local communities that is willing to wield a gun for the sake of profit, himself, safety, and so on. Meet at the old planetarium and be prepared for war. That is all."

His announcing done, Derek replaced the mic on its stand and stared angrily at the still snickering workers. "I hate you all," he announced before stepping into the elevator and hitting the ground-floor button.

Upon reaching his destination, he was greeted by a rather humorous sight. Panama had decided to sleep in the main lobby, and was a bit of an attraction to the few children who were in Raw Border. They were happily perched on various parts of her body, and she didn't seem to even notice, much less care. "Panama!" Derek called, and the Yao-Guai immediately heaved herself up and padded over to his side, shedding the kids behind her. Sighing, he patted the side of her snout affectionately. "We're going to be traveling a bit today. Make sure to eat now, I have no idea when we're getting back." Panama knocked him over with an affectionate nudge, then padded off to the Myrelurk cart she had commandeered as a feeding trough.

Mato was at his recharging station, but his fusion batteries were reading 98% charged. Equal to about three day's worth of shooting stuff. So, Derek punched in the activation code and Mato sprang to life. "User detected: input of orders imminent," the machine buzzed.

"Passive protection is all for now Mato. When an engagement takes place, do as the system deems fit."

"Orders acknowledged. Passive protection of user primary objective." The machine whirred and hummed as it made the proper adjustments, then wheeled to Derek's side. _This will be fun_ Derek told himself as he stepped out of the building.

Coming to meet him were three heavily armed regulators and their leader, none other than Justice. Two of the mercenaries were carrying the pitiful assassin between them, each with an arm on his shoulder. His legs were chained together, and his upper body was a mass of tangled ropes and chains. "He can walk for himself, but I don't want him to have any leverage," Justice explained to Derek.

Nodding, Derek leaned forward and whispered "Thanks for the new gauntlets" into the assassin's ear. The gagged man could only stare hatefully at him. "Well, we'd best be off. I don't want to keep the Umpire waiting."

* * *

As the group made their way up the fortified concrete ramps(with Panama waiting outside the gates, of course) to the Umpire's control box, the Regulators couldn't help but notice how much security was in Passtime. "It's the Umpire. No one likes to trade stable goods in an unstable environment. So he hires security, makes the place a welcome reprieve from the rest of the earth, and the market almost makes itself."

"Just how smart is this Umpire?" inquired Justice, eyeing a rack of plasma grenades that was being hauled out to the large bazaar.

"He's smart enough to know when to shut down the markets to drive up prices, and he has enough influence that no one will question his decisions. He's also smart enough to be the only one who pays the security: no one else to take orders from." Derek explained all this casually, like it was a matter of fact.

"He certainly knows how to run a settlement," Justice mused, impressed.

"He does. And he's waiting for us," Derek pointed out, indicating a pair of armed guards that were standing directly in front of their little procession. "He knew we were coming."

"What makes you so sure?" Justice asked. "He could've seen us on the video cameras."

"He knows enough about all of this to see we're not a threat. If we had just shown up on his video cameras, you think he would've only sent two guards?" Derek mumbled the last part, lowering his voice to explain before the guards heard.

Justice stared at him, amazed by this turn of events. The guards did not speak, only falling in with the rest of the group, but keeping their weapons raised to prevent any surprises.

Soon enough, the eight people and a robot arrived at the double-doors that led into the Umpire's strongbox. "Ladies first," Derek asserted, shoving the prisoner ahead of the rest of the group and through the threshold. He followed, his crowbar's blade pricking the back of the assassin's neck. "Keep moving!" he ordered the poor man. Mato wheeled himself in after them.

"Wait outside. Be calm, nothing will go wrong," Justice ordered his subordinates before following the young man. The two guards remained with the Regulators.

Inside the box, Derek took in everything with one sweeping glance. To his left was a huge bank of monitors, all connected to cameras everywhere in the compound. Before him was a large one-way mirror that looked out into the stadium and gave a full view of the market below them. To his right were wooden stairs that went up to a second level. "You're observant, as I recalled," mused a cracked, broken voice.

Derek turned and grinned, the enigmatic Umpire standing before him. "It's always good to see you Symes," he told the ghoul, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You as well my good friend. But I do wish it were under better circumstances." The Umpire, once a human named Symes, had been pre-war Cincinnati's chief Vault-Tech executive. Immediately upon exiting his vault two years after the bombs had fallen (he'd been about thirty five) he had contracted the stigma that turned people into ghouls, and had been forever sealed away from his vault. So, he had set about clearing away the rubble from the Great American Ballpark to make it a useable settlement, setting up his strongbox within, and breeding Myrelurks to live in the sickened Ohio River. Suffice to say, he was single-handedly responsible for Sin'Nati's economic standing. Not bad for a ghoul used to the cushy life.

As far as ghouls went, he was surprisingly not bald, and wore his hair straight and combed, like any pre-war businessman. He also wore a dark suit that matched his dark-flaky skin quite well. The thing to note, however, was not his appearance, but the familiarity that he had with the combat shotgun on his hip. "First things first, Symes. We need to discuss Owner."

"Yes, I remember him, the man who rents out your rooms and runs your bar. Is it _that_ kind of a thing?" Symes inquired with knowing experience.

"Yes. I'd like to keep him on, he does a fantastic job. But if things become untenable, then…"

"Of course, he's always welcome. Some company would be nice these days, I'm afraid," Symes complained, mostly to himself. "But that's not the entire reason for your visit, is it? Come now, explain this mess, please," he asked, referring to the unmoving assassin.

"Stand up!" Derek ordered, smacking the kneeling prisoner in the side and receiving a gasp of pain in response. "Stand or I will kill you!" Slowly, grudgingly, the prisoner stood up and faced the Umpire, a mix of shock and resignation on his face. "Symes, you always could read a man better than me. Tell me if what I say is true or not: The Talon Company is using some of your merchants to ferry supplies to their base in Mt. Adams, and tried to forcibly oust me from power last night."

Symes chuckled and looked up at Derek, a smirk on his face. "I didn't need your prisoner to tell me that much, but he does confirm that every word of it is the truth."


	5. Chapter 5

(Written June 3) Hey bros. (For those of you confused, bro is my term for the loyal fans I have. So far, none) =( So I'm at the lake for one more day. Don't worry, I'm already half-way through the next chapter of Madness. I just need a description of Mephala (impasse). So, I'm officially on summer break come Monday around noon-ish, and I can barely wait! My wife is still in school, but we'll get by somehow =) So, without further ado (say it with me now) BACK TO WORK!

(Written July 4th) Okay bros, I know it's been awhile. I've been plugging away when I can, but sometimes you're just not in the mood, you know? I'm truly sorry to have kept my readers waiting, and I hope that I can manage a faster update sooner-or-later =) Truly, I write these things for you guys as much as myself: because if no one else was enjoying them, there would be no point to be posting them here, right? Oh well, we'll see if this story can redeem me a little. I hope it's good enough to justify the wait!

* * *

Derek laughed and twirled his crowbar, not surprised in the least. "So you knew then. Why didn't you act?"

"Same reason you didn't: I don't have autonomy," Symes explained.

"I know I know, and I'm glad you didn't. It's given Justice here more than enough time to plead his case for the Regulators. And my friend here," Derek declared, tapping the kneeling assassin on the shoulder "more than made up my mind for their cause. So, Symes, what shall we do?"

"What indeed? Most likely I'll have to clean house. These merchants love to subscribe to the 'out of sight, out of mind,' policy of dealing with me. I think some even believe I don't exist," the ghoul complained.

"Perish the thought," Derek mock-scoffed. "But do clean up your house, because those that do business outside of your rules are no better than the raiders."

"Yes, of course, you are right. Once you leave, I will deal with the matter personally," Symes promised.

"Personally!" Derek exclaimed, surprised by this course of action. "Doesn't your second man-"

"Gerard will be accompanying you to the Talon Company base. He's all the help I can spare at the moment. Show of force and all that," Symes explained, suddenly busy pressing buttons on his monitors. On screen, guards were rushing around Passtime to unseen queues, moving to block off merchant stalls and blockade the dock entrance.

Justice whistled, stepping over to the screens and watching the scene unfold like clockwork. "You work very fast."

"Training, my good Regulator." Symes waved off the compliment.

"Here, you can use these, I think." Justice handed his sheaf of evidence to the Umpire, who leafed through it and raised his eyebrows, impressed.

"If all of your information is as good as this, I may have to steal you from the Regulators my boy. This is spot on."

Justice laughed and shook his head. "I'm more into field work, if that's all right with you. Still, though, so long as I'm to become a permanent fixture, I have nothing against some side-jobs."

"Splendid!" exclaimed the Umpire, setting the pile of evidence aside and moving back to his screens. "Now then Derek, what will you do while I play dictator for the day?"

"Exactly as you suggested. I'll take Gerard and head over to the Talon base. I have some men over at the old planetarium setting up now," Derek explained. "By the way, where is your man? I didn't see him on the way up."

"Of course you didn't," gloated a voice behind him. Mato whirled around and leveled his gun at a small man with a dark complexion. Gerard, Symes's right hand, generally had that effect on people. He had arrived in the states from Old Wales when he was just a boy. Apparently, the journey had been very difficult. Things hadn't gotten easier here, either. Gerard had landed in the middle of raider wars, and had somehow moved west until he had reached Passtime. Not surprisingly, Symes was quick to make contact, despite Gerard's skills at remaining negligible.

Gerard wore his hair long, down to his shoulders. It was black, as was his skin, and his eyes as well. He had once told Derek that he was called a 'Hindu,' and worshipped Brahma. Why he wanted to revere a two-headed beast of burden was beyond the young man. However, the only thing to distinguish him from shadow was a curious silver pendant around his neck that had a bunch of wavy lines on it. Gerard explained that these were symbols of his faith, though their meaning was lost on Derek.

"Stand down Mato," Derek ordered. The sentry bot whirred and lowered its rocket launcher.

Gerard laughed and patted Mato's shoulder, before striding over to stand beside Symes. "The gates are sealed. All our merchants are accounted for last I checked, and we have enough supplies for three days in case of a siege."

"Good man," praised Symes without looking away from his screens. "Do be so kind as to accompany these brave fools on their next endeavor. And be sure to bring back some useful information!" he reminded the manservant as he walked to Derek and Justice.

"I'll keep him safe for you Symes," Derek promised, opening the door for his companions. Mato wheeled out first, followed closely by Gerard.

Justice lingered long enough to say: "goodbye Umpire, or Symes, if you rather. I hope this is not the last time we meet."

Then he too strode out of the room, leaving the enigmatic ghoul to his own devices once more. Before the door closed, Derek heard Symes switch into a different tone than before as he said, "Now then, let's see what else you know Mr. Assassin."

On the way out of the settlement, Derek was quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts about the coming battle. He was not doubtful that he would be victorious, but he wondered at the cost. Certainly lives on his side would be lost. Who would blame him for creating more chaos and ending more lives, when people only wanted a peaceful struggle for survival? Oh well, he thought. Time enough for those thoughts after it was already too late.

Stepping out of the confines of Passtime, Derek noticed that Panama had a companion. The small blond Olivia stood silently next to the Yao-Guai, staring at him, pleading with her eyes. Deciding to make her suffer a little, Derek purposefully ignored her and continued on; calling on his new pet like Olivia wasn't even there. "Let's go Panama, we have people to end."

* * *

Mt. Adams was a large hill that overlooked Passtime from the east. Whoever owned the summit thereby claimed a great vantage point for reconnaissance. Thus, it was almost a constant warzone. As things stood, it was more-or-less no-man's land. The major landmarks were the old theater that the Talon Company had commandeered. It was directly on the main road up to the rest of Mt. Adams; a perfect choke-point. Beyond was the old Planetarium. A small garrison of Brotherhood of Steel Knights kept this facility in working order, mainly to use its intact radio telescope as an effective communication device. Lastly was an old church, directly at the summit of the hill. Strangely, its design centered around a raised platform that the church itself sat on. This platform was only reachable by one concrete staircase that had yet to collapse. A pre-war fortress if there ever was one. Mt. Adams only stable residents, the ghouls, resided in this bastion, and had christened it Purgatory. Not a bad name for a bunch of immortals.

Up the hill trudged the growing party, occasionally joined by scavengers or other people eager to get in on the 'war games' Derek had mentioned earlier. Upon reaching the main road up Mt. Adams, the group circled to the left of the theater, which was on a small rise of its own. They kept silent and out of sight of the unseen watchmen that were surely watching for the unseen trespassers. Uncertainties aside, the group bypassed the area without incident and continued on to the planetarium.

The commander of the Knights at the planetarium was a Junior Paladin Fields. Fields was not bad as the Brotherhood went; he knew that you had to at least speak to the locals to survive in the field. But he certainly did not appreciate armed bands of money-grubbing lowlifes randomly appearing on his property. Spotting Derek emerging amidst the chaos, Fields stormed up to the young man. He was pretty imposing in the power armor, even though he was no taller than Derek. His red hair was cropped militant short, though it still served to emphasize his unhappy mood. "What the hell is going on here you tribal nutjob?" demanded the high-and-mighty Junior Paladin angrily. "I almost shot the first few people to show up, and I'm still pretty trigger happy!"

"Sorry Fields," Derek apologized honestly . "We're rooting out some interlopers who're dug in at the theater, and we needed a secure staging area." Derek was unusually tactful with the Brotherhood. He knew they were strong, and wanted to be on as much of their good side as he could. It was never a good idea to anger someone who had military training and was using power armor.

"You may have told me!" Fields protested, though he seemed to be a little calmer knowing that he wasn't about to be fighting a battle himself.

"I tried," responded the young man calmly. "I don't have your radio frequencies, so I broadcasted on mine about everyone heading up to the planetarium. I figured you would be listening."

"Yeah well… we weren't!" Fields retorted, somehow asserting he was superior for not paying attention to tribal frequencies.

"Look, just… calm down for five minutes and I'll get all of this taken care of," promised Derek, starting to get fed up.

"Five minutes. I'll hold you to that!" was the response from over the shoulder of a retreating Steel Junior Paladin.

Five minutes later, the war party was grouped up and ready to head out. The plan was simple. Three main groups would assault the Talons from three different directions. Derek would take the hardiest, most seasoned individuals up the main road and assault the front gate. The Talons would be expecting the frontal attack, so these men would be in the most danger. Perfect leadership-building opportunity. He would be followed by Panama and Mato. Justice and Olivia would accompany the lighter infantry in an attack that would come up from beneath an old parking garage adjacent to the compound. Once it was clear of enemies, they would support the frontal attack via sniper fire. Gerard would lead the stealthiest men into the compound from the wooded hills that formed the remainder of the perimeter. He would head-hunt the leadership and steal anything that wasn't nailed down. If all went well, the Talons would be caught off-guard and pinched off in the resulting chaos. "Okay, we're moving out!" Derek ordered, stepping to the head of his mob of soldiers and giving them a stern-ish look. "If you die, I won't pay you," was all the motivation he gave his men before turning and heading off.

As expected, shouts rang up from the Talon Camp as soon as Derek could see their sentries. "Okay, start running, and don't stop until you're not alive," he told the men near him. Removing his boomstick from its holster, the young man charged forward and sighted his first target. The Talon mercenary had just whipped around to find a buckshot pellet lodged in his brain. Stepping over the body, Derek claimed his piece of cover and looked ahead to survey their objective. He was currently behind a concrete slab that was part of a sloppy ring around the parking lot of the theater. Beyond lay your given gutted vehicles, and a wrought-iron fence that was the Talon's main line of defence. They had miniguns, some explosives, and some MarkII machine turrets covering the ground to the theater itself. Behind him, his men were claiming their own cover from trees, or other parts of the concrete ring from dead Talon mercenaries. Mato was buzzing angrily as he released a storm of lasers from his arm, tearing through two men and freeing up a section of the ring for more of Derek's troops. Panama was hanging back for now; surprisingly aware of how effective a frontal charge would be at the present.

* * *

To their left, Justice was helping some men heave themselves over a piece of sheet metal and into the lowest level of the parking garage. Once everyone was inside, the group rushed up the stairs, picking off Talon goons as quietly as they could. Justice was good at that, because his lever-action rifle was a lot quieter than the ruckus occurring outside. Up and up the party went, pouncing on unwary sentries on their way. Just before reaching the top, Justice held out his hand and stopped the group from emerging into the sunlight. Signaling for the others to wait, he trotted forward himself to a hunk of metal, hunkered down behind it, then silently peeked over to see what was waiting for them. What he saw wasn't a very comforting sight.

* * *

Inside the theater, Gerard was silently slipping between the rows of disheveled chairs, listening for sounds of approaching feet. Earlier, he had heard people barking orders, and then watched as all the sentries had gone outside to fight the attackers. Rather stupid, since they assumed no one would be coming in behind them. Sighing, Gerard motioned for the rest of his party to move up through the chairs, then drew his dagger from its sheath on his sleeve. This was no ordinary wastelander weapon: it fitted neatly into two of his fingers and braced against his wrist, allowing for quick jabs as well as broad slashes. Squeezing the handle, he slid between two broken seats to get a better look at the front of the theater.

In front of him was what looked like a war meeting: a few high-ranking Talon Company men looking over a table full of maps and charts, with little pawns on them to represent the forces in the field. From his perspective, Gerard could only see enemy pawns at the front entrance. So, the attack on the parking garage was going unnoticed as well. These guys really didn't know how to fight a war. Slinking closer, Gerard was able to make out a bit of the conversation going on between someone that had to be in charge and his subordinates. "…we need to make sure they don't discover the cargo. Wipe out the scavengers at the gate, and move the goods into the building. Be sure to keep it quiet too: no telling who would be willing to steal a few for their own cut." Gerard spied some of the pawns being moved about, from the parking garage into what he assumed was the main building. He hoped that, whatever this cargo was, Justice and Olivia would be able to handle it, because he wasn't about to let the meeting go on any longer to find out for himself. Turning to what looked like an empty room, Gerard signaled to eyes that were watching by drawing a finger across his throat.

* * *

All things considered, the Talon were terrible war fighters. Sure, each member knew how to use a fucking gun, and knew how to use cover, but they were not trained soldiers. There was no group dynamic, no covering fire to support a counter-attack, nothing but a bunch of individuals clustered behind similar cover, shooting at similar enemies, and wearing similar armor. As things stood, Derek's men had pushed through considerable odds to even the playing field. The ring of concrete slabs should've been the first-line of defense, but no Talon had fired a shot to help his fellow mercenary, and now the fortification was in Derek's hands. From here, his men looked directly across the parking lot to the wrought iron gate, where the Talon were all clustered together and firing randomly. Some of his men were finding it comical to lob explosives and send two or three Talons flying in different directions. Frankly, Derek couldn't blame them. Sure, the Talon fought better than Raiders, but where was the cohesion? There should've been lots of space between men to limit the effectiveness of grenades, and a base of fire should've been maintained to prevent an advance.

Speaking of which… "Mato!" Derek called, paused, then added "Panama! Come earn your keep!" Sure enough, the thump of charging paws and the whirr of wheels were soon heard, and the two appeared. Panama, again showing an astounding knowledge of a fire-fight, remained close to the cover of the closest concrete slab. "Mato, status update," Derek demanded. Before any major engagement, Mato stored Derek's logistics (troops, ammunition, etc.) in his central processor, which helped him make orders and decisions.

Mato whirred and spouted the necessary information. "Three men have been neutralized, and our explosives are half depleted."

Derek thought for a moment, then made his choice. "Travel along the line and inform the troops of these orders." Derek cleared his throat and spoke clearly, since Mato would play back this holotape sound-file to all the fighters. "Okay guys, it doesn't look like we're getting support from the parking garage. We'll have to solve this ourselves. Everyone, switch to whatever explosives you have. If you're out, use a loud weapon. Scream, beat on your cover, make lots of noise. We need to disorient them, make them scared and confused. I'm going to order Mato and the bear to charge their lines once I think it's enough, so switch to precision targeting once you see them go. Or, charge with them if you're feeling brave. Once their lines are broken, give them a chance to surrender before we kill everyone: who knows, someone may actually give themselves up this time." With that, Derek waved the machine away to go spread his orders.

Soon enough, explosives began raining down on the Talons massed at the gate into the theater. Amidst the smoke and fires, Derek could make out bodies rushing like mad, trying to get away from what was becoming a holocaust. Satisfied for the moment, Derek moved over to Panama and patted the side of her face. "Okay, here's the idea," he told the hulking creature, speaking like he would to another human. "You're going to run towards them," he told the Yao-Guai, pointing towards the scattering Talons. "Run fast, and get in close. The more you kill, the less alive to kill you." Something in her eyes told him she understood the gist of what he wanted. As a last ditch measure, he added: "come back alive, and I'll make sure you always have food at home." Panama dipped her head, then heaved her body upwards, leaving the concrete slab and turning towards the disoriented Talons, a challenge roaring from her throat.

"Mato!" Derek shouted at the top of his lungs. "Charge now!" Suddenly, in the midst of the booms of explosives sounded a constant humming, whirring of gears. Mato's Gatling laser was up and firing as he sped towards the remaining Talons. Still roaring, Panama charged after him, and Derek would always swear afterwards that the ground shook at the thunder of her feet. A few brave souls joined the pair, and what remained of the Talon defense was wiped out in a mixture of lasers and crushing claws. There was no need for anyone else to even fire a shot: the battle was won.

* * *

Okay guys. I have the next chapter all done as well, enjoy your double whammy!

EDIT: THe next chapter was deleted from my hardrive by squirrels with chainsaws. I will have it rewritten by tuesday!


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay guys, so I had this chapter all done along with the rest of last chapter. But through an unfortunate accident, I managed to erase all of the next part. _ So, I'll work really hard to get this to you as soon as I can! Just sit tight, you'll have your next chapter very soon! Now, BACK TO WORK!**

But first, some responses to some awesome bros who decided to comment on my work!

**Skribbz1990:** Thanks for the review! Yeah, I've been feeling very prideful about Cincinnati recently, and thought she deserved some time in the radioactive limelight =) And yes, the Brotherhood in Union Terminal seemed to make sense =D

**Lost Cauze:** Holy fuck, some actual critiques! Well, I understand exactly what you're saying. In fact, there are many ways to introduce the setting of a story. I enjoy books that ease you into the setting, at least the ones that do it well enough to have everything eventually make sense. I can't tell you how many times I've been reading something, then having to stop, backtrack to make sure I wasn't forgetting something vital, then move forward again. And I don't want my readers to become frustrated by my lack of an expanded environment early on, so I decided "the heck with it, let's explain everything!" because I don't know if I can do the 'ease in' thing well enough. Maybe with time. And yes, the mirror was a bit weak =( I thought no one would notice because I made him use the toilet right after =)

**Jdboss1:** It's not actually this interesting =) But thanks, I appreciate your awesome reviews!

**Remember to PM me with questions! I can't fix broken things I don't know exist!

* * *

**

STOP!CALL OFF YOUR MONSTER! I SURRENDER! Screamed a terrified Talon who was about to be minced by Panama's powerful jaws. Cursing, Derek rushed forward and smashed his arm into the Yao-Guai's teeth. Even through the gauntlet, Derek's arm was being crushed by the force of Panama's powerful jaws.

"Agh! Panama! Get **OFF** me!" He yelled, heaving himself against the hulking animal. Several men were dragging at her as well, trying to get her off of the one who had to pay them. Somehow, they managed to get her to back up. Seeing that she was harming the wrong person, the Yao-Guai loosened her jaw enough for Derek to remove his aching arm. Rolling up his duster sleeve, Derek saw that his gauntlet wasn't damaged. Stripping that off, he saw large bruises forming across his arm. Large, aching, painful bruises. "Goddammit," he cursed, massaging the area to get more blood flowing

Turning to Panama, he pointed to the still-cowering Talon. "You do **not** attack people who don't fight back! Understand?" he demanded. Panama's ears were back, and her teeth were bared, but she stayed where she was. Sighing, he patted her head with his good arm. "You'll get your food later, I promise," he said in a soothing tone, trying to stop her from munching on someone else.

Remembering why he had thrust his arm into a dangerous place, Derek turned and extended his good, right arm to the Talon on the ground. The person he helped to her feet was possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She stood a bit taller than he was, and had a very athletic body that was most likely accustomed to the hardships of living in this day and age. Her skin was tan, and her eyes were glittering silver. Her dirty blond hair was not tied back, instead falling past her shoulders like a golden fountain. The one thing to mar her beauty was the hint of arrogance to her features: she knew very well she was desirable. She reminded Derek of those books he and Olivia used to read, with the warrior princesses in them. Amazons they had been called. Proud, beautiful, and fierce. "Thank you for saving me," she began, before moving a tad closer. "I'd like to repay you, if that's all right…" and of course, she left the offer as open ended as possible.

Derek held up a hand to stop her, and gave her a disarming smile. "Don't worry about it. You'll be our prisoner for quite awhile, so I'm sure we can come to some agreement," he told the woman, who was startled that this young man was telling her that she would be a prisoner. "If you would be so kind as to slip this on," he continued, passing her some shackles, "we could be on our merry way." The woman looked around to the other, not-so-friendly faces, then sighed and tied her hands. Several grinning men stepped forward to stand behind their new prisoner. "No touching," Derek warned them.

By now, everyone had formed up, more or less, at the front entrance to the theater. "Let's get in there," Derek commanded, and lots of weapons were leveled at the door in preparation for the next battle. However, the door seemed to have plans of its own, and proceeded to open of its own accord. Out stepped Gerard, his hands raised to show the itchy trigger fingers that he was a friendly.

"There's no need for that," Gerard said pleasantly, in spite of the guns still pointing at him.

"Lower your weapons, he's with us," Derek ordered. The scavengers lowered their guns dutifully. "Anything to report Gerard?" the young man went on, stepping forward to clap his comrade on the shoulder.

"Well, we've taken the building. A few of the high-ranking Talons surrendered without a fight, and we've come across a pretty sum of caps and pre-war money. The Talons won't say a word about what it's for. Interesting to note, however, is a special note that came with the funds, detailing a partnership with some raiders to the east. Something about special cargo being exchanged for the money and weapons."

"I see. Any thoughts about what this cargo could be?" Derek inquired, a little intrigued, despite his distaste for underhanded plots of all sorts.

"Before we attacked, I overheard some of the commanders discussing some valuable goods being stored in the parking garage. But I was more worried about winning the fight, so I stopped their conversation before I discovered what it was we were dealing with," Gerard confessed.

"Stored in the parking garage… that would explain why we've failed to get support from Justice and Olivia," Derek mused.

"No support from them? Well, that's problematic," Gerard declared. "We should go have a look-see."

"Uhm… I know what the special cargo is," piped the prisoner.

"Oh my, what have we here?" Gerard inquired, giving the striking woman an earnest once over.

"She surrendered," Derek explained. Turning to the woman, he asked "Well? What can you tell us about the stuff in the garage?"

"I want my freedom first, then I will tell you whatever you want to know," she demanded, straining for a way out of the fix she was in.

Derek and Gerard looked at each other. Gerard shrugged. Derek burst out laughing. Struggling to control his shaking sides, he wheezed out "y-you think you can bargain with this? Ha-Ha, I've never met someone more desperate, or stupid." The look on the woman's face told him she wasn't disagreeing. "Woman, you seem to be under a misconception. Nothing is stopping me from heading over to the garage and seeing this whateveritis for myself. The fact that you know anything is an unforeseen bonus. I don't need your information at all, really," he admitted, waving a hand to stop her protests. "That being said, you will tell us. Or Gerard will remove your left thumb with a pair of rusty nails."

The woman looked at Gerard for a few moments, who looked back with a scary grin on his features. She remained silent until he began digging in his pockets, then threw up her shackled hands in defeat. "Slaves!" she yelled, before her thumbs were attacked. "They've been storing slaves up there!"

"Slaves?" Gerard and Derek demanded in unison. Slaves were a very touchy subject here in Sin'Nati: no one was permitted to keep them in either settlement, and that ideal had taken root in the general population as well. Those who kept slaves around here died. So the fact that the Talons were doing it made the young man lower his estimate of their intelligence even further. "Where were they getting these slaves, woman? What was their purpose?"

"Well, I know they bought some from a group of raiders to the east. Others were hermits they nabbed from up north," she explained. "I don't know much more… they didn't exactly tell us that they were keeping the slaves."

"Why should I believe that?" Derek asked.

"Because it is true," Gerard spoke up, defending her. "The commanders spoke of keeping the existence of this side business a secret from their rank and file. They weren't sure they could be trusted."

Derek mulled this over, then asked another question. "So how _did_ you come to know about the slaves?"

"W-well," she stammered. "I… I wanted to know what they were hiding from us. So I snuck into the garage once after everyone was asleep, and I saw them chaining up some people. I didn't know what was going on, until I overheard the word 'slave' being tossed around," she explained, trying to absolve herself of the deed.

"Do you know what they were planning on doing, at least?" Derek demanded, looking to make some sense of this development.

"I've hear some rumors about an expedition down the Ohio, maybe even as far as the Pitt…"

Derek and Gerard exchanged worried glances. If The Pitt was getting involved up here in Sin'Nati, things were about to get very complicated. "Well, at least we have a bit of sense about this whole mess. Now then, I think everyone else should stay here, to clean up after ourselves. Tend to wounded, collect swag, dispose of the bodies, and so on. Gerard, if you would be so kind as to make sure everything goes smoothly, I'll take this very cooperative woman with me and figure out why we're missing half our party." Derek finished his orders, and after a nod of acceptance from Gerard, pushed the prisoner ahead of him and started walking. "Remember to pipe up if we're about to hit any booby-traps."

* * *

Justice was still behind his piece of sheet-metal cover, his gun still leveled at the threat ahead of their group. Behind him, he heard footsteps. A lack of reaction from his party told him that they were friendlies. A clap on his shoulder loosened his tight nerves a bit, and a familiar voice whispered to him, saying "I'll handle this. Tell everyone to get back."

Derek stepped out onto the roof of the parking garage and surveyed the scene before him. In the center was a parked car, with an intact nuclear fission engine. Strapped to the engine were twenty-seven chains, which were attached to twenty-seven different necks, each of which belonged to a 'slave'. Derek assumed that if one of them tried to make a break for it, everyone would die. A rather crude, though effective, form of capture.

What was most troublesome, however, was the Talon standing amongst the slaves, grasping a young girl close to his chest, and holding a sawed-off shotgun to her head. The remaining slaves had slunk away from the man, and were cowering at the extreme other end of their chains. If Justice shot the Talon, he would drag that girl down with him and detonate the car, killing all of the slaves. A cold pit formed in Derek's gut for this man: he would pay for doing this.

Derek continued to walk towards this man, pretending to be distracted with his left gauntlet, flashing the purpling limb to the Talon. At about ten yards out, the Talon spoke: "S-stop right there! Don't come any closer, or the girl dies!"

"Tch! You think I care if a _slave_ dies?" Derek demanded, putting real hatred into the word. "We're just common scavengers! We have more than enough money! We don't need any fucking slaves!"

"B-but your… your buddies stopped when they saw…" the Talon was scrambling, trying to be confident that his shield was still working.

While he deliberated, Derek made eye-contact with the young girl he was holding. She was obviously scared, and her eyes were pleading. He winked confidently at her, then turned back to the distracted Talon. "They're scared shitless by that nuclear bomb you're sitting on," Derek said, striding even closer.

"S-stop! I'll kill us both!" the Talon cried, shaking the whimpering girl's chain for emphasis.

"You don't have the guts to do that," Derek told him flatly, picking up speed. The Talon agonized over what to do for a few precious moments, then practically screamed in frustration and pointed his gun at Derek. Too close to dodge, he lunged forward, seeing too-late that he wouldn't reach the gun before it hit him point-blank. Suddenly, the girl in the Talon's arms lashed out, smashing his arm with her head and jerking the gun upwards as it went off. Buckshot sprayed into Derek's right shoulder, and he cried out at the pain as he knocked into the Talon and throwing the girl to safety.

With both arms effectively shot, the young man was no match for the Talon in hand-to-hand fighting. Derek struggled to remain on top of the superior fighter as blows rained down onto his face and ribs. Suddenly, Derek was hauled off of the Talon, and supporting arms helped him stand over his opponent, who was now surrounded by the slaves he had recently been tormenting. "The only thing I hate worse than a slave-holder," Derek confessed, spitting a bit of blood onto the Talon's armor, "is a coward who keeps hostages." With that, the Talon was dragged off, and began screaming as the servant turned on their master. A few strong arms supported Derek as he returned to his men. The young slave girl had her arms securely around his waist. Justice was not hiding his impressed state. The prisoner was staring at the young man like he was some sort of rare piece of swag. "Who is that," she asked to no-one in particular.

And, Olivia, who was giggling, responded. "That's our leader."

* * *

After the excitement, things were a bit of a pain to sort out. First came the former slaves. Most wanted nothing more to do with their past lives, and were happy to accompany the party back to Raw Border. Several expressed interest in heading further, to Passtime, and a few even spoke of securing passage on a boat to head south. Others, mostly the hermits, wanted to return to their homes to the north. One or two even left immediately after being freed and offering their sincerest thanks to the young man who had saved them. The young girl Derek had saved was not a talker, and she did not want to leave his side, much to the chagrin of both him, and the field doctor who wanted to examine him.

Derek's left arm would be fine. Panama had bruised him right down to the bone, but there were no fractures, and he was already healing. That happened a lot, actually. The medic told him that he would be swinging crowbars again in under a week. His right shoulder was a bit worse off. At that close range, the buckshot had really torn up the muscle. The medic had plucked a few pieces that hadn't gone straight through, then stitched him shut. "We'll need to keep an eye on it to make sure it doesn't get infected. But the muscle will heal in a few weeks," was the medic's final diagnosis, as he checked the other scrapes and bruises on Derek's body.

Next came the swag. A huge pile had accumulated in front of the theater, and people were anxious to stake their claims. "Come on, come on!" Derek ordered the people massed around the pile. "Into your lines so we can get started!" Almost immediately, the men began to line up in order of their importance, with group leaders above a lone scavenger, and grunts behind them. Derek went first. He claimed a wad of the pre-war money, some fission batteries for Mato, and a box of shotgun shells for himself. At his side, the slave girl shook his duster, then pointed at a glinting bit of something further in the pile. Derek shrugged, then reached in and pulled out a flawless bronze crescent necklace. His eyes widened as he handed it to her, that thing probably had to be worth a ton of caps! With the way she cradled it in her hands he guessed that it must've been hers' before she had been taken prisoner. He was glad she had it back, and would have to be sure no one else had an idea to take it.

After the swag was distributed, the prisoners had to be dealt with. The high-rankers would be accompanying Gerard back to Passtime, along with Justice, who had to send word to the remainder of his group, based across the river in what had once been Covington. That left the pretty woman, who was being eyed by more than one lonely scavver. A few were going as far as to demand her as a "proper reward." It got to the point where Derek had to assert his authority, again. Stepping up to stand next to the worried-looking woman, he secretly patted her back, and then glared at his men. "**I** will take responsibility for the prisoner. Do not try and tell me how to deal with her, since we all know **perfectly** well how prisoners are dealt with in Raw Border. I will take her, as the leader **always **has!" This forced into line more than one resident of Raw Border, though there were still some ungrateful rumblings here and there.

Sighing, Derek grasped the woman's arm and led her off, to where Olivia, Panama, and the little slave girl were sitting. The little one didn't seem to mind that a Yao-Guai was very close to her, and was watching him move the woman over to their group. Derek supposed she was around 8-9 years old. She had long brown hair and big, chocolate eyes. Her skin was a healthy peach color, though she had purpling bruises where her clothing was torn. Derek's eye twitched, and he was happy that the Talon's shrieks of pain had been suitably agonizing before he had died.

"I never told you my name, did I?" the woman asked, sitting down next to a startled Olivia. "It's Charlotte."

"That's a lovely name for a lovely girl," Derek complemented, getting a giggle from her and a bewildered glare from Olivia. Derek leaned down to pat the young girl on the shoulder. "What is your name?" he asked kindly. He had a bit of a soft spot for kids.

"S-sl…. Slave!" She squeaked, using her voice for the first time he had heard it. It was high and musical, though it failed to alleviate the horror Derek felt.

"That's not your name," he told her fealing sick. "Is it?" The girl nodded eagerly, sure that she was right. Derek looked at Olivia, who looked just as upset as he felt. He sighed, then stood and took the girl's hand in his. "Well, let's go home now."

* * *

**Sorry guys! I was up at two this morning trying hard to finish, but it just wouldn't come! I have failed my awesome bro readers =( Hope this chapter redeems me. **


	7. Chapter 7

**November 5: hey bros! I know I know, I haven't updated in a very long time. At least a month. But my computer's hard-drive died, taking the latest chapter with it, only a few words from completion. At least now, I get a fresh start. I hope I can make this new chapter even better for you, my faithful bros!

* * *

**

The watcher popped the joints in their neck, the movement only a slight jerk to the right, unnoticeable to even an experienced observer. Not that the watcher expected to be seen, but one could never be too careful. The watcher's head settled back into the brace at the butt of the rifle, one eye peering through the scope. Again, nothing but the most skilled reconnaissance would reveal more than the rifle's barrel, a dull, crisp gray that was less filthy than the metal of the cars that it rested against. But the sight should have been warning enough to those who could spot it.

This was no wasteland rifle, cobbled together from scrap and duct tape. The machine-tooled rifle was a .50 caliber miracle of post-atomic engineering. Every inch was upgraded to suit the needs of its master, from the extended barrel for increased accuracy and reduced muzzle flair, to the 12x scope which could spot movement from over a mile away with ease. The bullets were hollow-point incendiary rounds, designed for maximum damage from extreme ranges. On the left side, etched into the cold steel, were the words "Old Bessie".

But the rifle was only half of the equation. The greatest machine was worthless without direction. Thankfully, this watcher was no amateur. Trained eyes scanned the near distance, then gazed through the scope far downrange. Nimble fingers adjusted the focus dial on the scope, and rested easily against the trigger. And the face mask just seemed to scream "professional." The watcher had been told that RobCo had created this style of infrared goggles and re-breather as a light alternative to the T51-b contracted by the military. This particular model also came equipped with enhanced auditory capabilities, specifically designed to pick up signs of movement or voices. It didn't much matter what functions it had or where it had come from though. The mask served its intended purpose: at night, the scanning eyes could still find their prey.

Speaking of which, the watcher's eyes locked onto his newest target. Ahead, a single raider strode confidently through the broken thoroughfare. An almost-broken assault rifle was swinging from his grimy hands, and a sneer of superiority seemed to be etched onto his filthy face. Scraps of armor hung from his body, and the exposed skin was black and covered in dirt and earth and dried gore. Typical.

The raider made his way up to a building on the east side of the street and kicked the door in. Angry voices, slightly mechanical because of the amplifying device in the watcher's ears, demanded a password. In response, the raider sprayed his gun into the open door, then calmly walked into the crumbling building.

"Found them," the watcher mused quietly, patting Old Bessie's breach. The watcher slid calmly into the shadows with his rifle and stood up, safe from any prying eyes. After a much needed stretch, some myrelurk meat, and an answer to nature's call, the position was taken up once more.

* * *

An old ham radio buzzed to life in the old city hall. Two squawks*, in rapid succession, echoed through the broken halls. "Looks like they're here after all," an old, wizened voice muttered thoughtfully.

"Like you thought, hey Gaulm?" a much more youthful, energetic voice responded.

"Looks like you're in for a hike then," Gaulm responded. A rush of static interrupted the rest of the conversation, followed by two more squawks. Gaulm cussed loudly.

The young voice laughed. "They won't catch me Gaulm. You know that."

Gaulm drank deeply from a bottle of whiskey, the action having the ease of long practice. "I know, I know."

The young voice changed the subject, as its owner picked up a piece of paper and reread the message. "The Pitt is getting antsy. Ashur knows what is coming east. He says even the trogs are trying to push westward."

Gaulm drained his bottle further, exhaling heavily as he removed it from his lips. "Ashur will succeed soon. He paid the Talons well for their work in Balto, both with the slaves and medical knowledge they found."

"Those Talons will be the first to die, then."

"Ashur knows that. It's why he enslaved everyone and took them all to the Pitt. There isn't anyone left besides Talons. Still, it's a pity Balto had to die, but it's for the greater good."

"You're putting a lot of faith in the Pitt."

Gaulm finished off the whiskey in another few gulps, then tossed the bottle into the darkness. "Ashur knows what's at stake here. And we need him, or else we'll be lost. Everything will be lost."

"Do you think we've prepared enough?"

Gaulm wiped his hand through his greasy, unkempt hair. "I don't know, Than. But we've done all we can. And these raiders are much more important now than what is coming."

Than laughed and stepped into the light of the radio. His tall stature was filled in with a wiry muscle frame, and his black hair and facial stubble framed a set of piercing green eyes and an easy smile. "Okay old man, I'm off." He spun and slipped on his leather jacket in one smooth motion, slipping his laser pistol into its holster as well.

* * *

The watcher, with about a half-second's warning, rolled to the left, just as a bolt from a laser pistol blackened the earth in the previously occupied spot.

"Sharp as ever, you are!" Than exclaimed, grinning at the figure of the watcher. The watcher faced him from the ground with Old Bessie raised, the barrel pointed straight at Than's head. "Well, I'm here. Where are they?" Than asked, oddly nonchalant about the gun to his head. The watcher held the weapon steady for a few seconds longer, before lowering the rifle to the ground and rolling over, pointing the gun towards the building the raider had entered earlier. "Thanks a bunch!" Than exclaimed, spinning on his heel and trotting down the drive towards the raider stronghold.

As Than approached the building, he sped up slightly, now running outright. Almost immediately after his change in speed, several raiders in scraps of armor stepped from the front door of the building. One who appeared to be the leader, who wore a helmet with an animal skull on it, stepped forward to challenge the still running Than. "That's far enough, boy!" he yelled in an arrogant tone, obviously used to being heeded. Than just kept running.

"H-hey! Stop!" the raider repeated, leveling his revolver at the rapidly closing figure and firing several rounds. The shots were appallingly inaccurate, whizzing several feet away from Than, who laughed and drew his laser pistol in response. Unlike whatever the raiders probably had stored, this pistol was in great condition. A precision attachment focused the beam, making it much more accurate and powerful, as well as more energy efficient. Etched into the side, in a familiar style, were the words "Fatal Law."

A small buzz of energy from the weapon was all the warning the raiders had before their leader's body turned into a pile of ash. Cussing in surprise, the left-most raider tried to draw his weapon, but found that his arm was suddenly a smoking pulp. Then he ceased to find anything as his brain and spinal cord were vaporized by a laser to the head. The only remaining raider saw what had happened to his buddies and instantly came to a decision. "Fuck this!" he yelled, ducking down and putting his hands over his head. "Please stop shooting I surrender!" he cried.

Than slowed his pace and calmly approached the blubbering raider, placing his precision pistol against the man's head as he drew near. "Tell me what you're doing in there. Don't spare any details, and don't try to tell me you weren't involved, I don't care either way."

The raider gulped at the dismissive tone of his voice spoke quickly as a result. "W-we came here from the west, after our old turf got taken in a war. We thought that the city would be a good place to scavenge and steal from anyone without getting caught."

"I didn't ask for your life story. Get on with it," than ordered, none of his good humor present in this exchange. He primed his pistol, and the weapon hummed softly with the rush of energy.

"Okay! Okay! Don't shoot me!" the raider pleaded, and when death didn't come, he hesitantly continued. "W-we have slave pens inside, people… women we've captured and kept… raped…" he mumbled the last part. "We… we've also been stealing energy weapons from the Brotherhood of Steel."

"Really?" Than asked, suddenly interested. "How have you managed that?"

The raider gulped, then explained. "Back before the Great War, the government turned the railway from Chicago to Cincinnati into a subway system, so it could go faster and much more often."

"Ask me if I care," Than stated.

"W-we've set up a road-block in the tunnels, further back than the Brotherhood are willing to patrol. We stop their shipments back and forth from Chicago to Sin'Nati, and take… some of what is sent both ways. Not enough to get caught, but we've gotten quite a stockpile."

Than nodded. The idea made sense. "So why haven't you been using these pilfered weapons?"

The raider gulped. "I… I'm not exactly supposed to… tell you…" he said, getting quieter.

Than laughed, a cold and merciless sound. "Right. So, why haven't you been using your pilfered weapons?"

The raider raised his head, looking into Than's eyes for the first time. There was fear there, wild and crazy. "After we set up the roadblock, our Ham radio started coming on by itself. Not many people heard what it was saying, but apparently the boss took it into his room and had everyone else who had heard it put to death."

"And did you hear it?"

The raider's face fell. "We… the boss was gone one night, and a few of us… snuck into his room and waited…" it was obvious that he didn't want to continue. Than tapped the pistol against his skull as encouragement. The raider hastily glanced around, like he was fearing the appearance of some assassin or killer. "A voice came onto the radio..." he began, the reluctance dripping from every word. "He sounded… like he had been educated somewhere, learned to speak from professionals almost."

Here he stopped, looking fearfully at Than. "He knew who we were. He greeted us by name!" Than raised an eyebrow, but gestured for the man to continue. "He told us that we had to keep taking weapons from the Brotherhood, or else…"

"Or else… what?" Than asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

"We asked that question…" the raider muttered, defeated now. "Everyone but me suddenly vanished into a puddle of green goo… I was horrified and ran out of the room… I didn't want to die…"

Than was tapping his foot now, his mind actively running through this new information. "Wouldn't your boss have noticed the goo in front of the radio?" he asked absently.

The raider shrugged. "He didn't mention it. I assume, if he did see it, he probably guessed everyone was dead."

Than's foot continued to tap as he considered all this. Someone obviously was in the market for these energy weapons, and they wanted as few people to know about it as possible. He listed off a few of the most likely candidates. The Brotherhood of Steel certainly had the motive, but they would've just killed the raiders after discovering where their weapons were going. Talon Company certainly had the nerve and means to scare a few raiders. But again, subtlety was not their forte. No, this was the doing of someone who wanted to remain unseen. Most likely, this was not the first time an old Ham radio had suddenly come to life in Sin'Nati.

Than sighed, and focused back on the raider who was still cowering before him. "So, I have two options. You've given me what information I've asked for so that I won't kill you. Yet, anyways." The raider nodded, knowing he didn't have anything else to bargain with. "So," Than continued, "Here's what we'll do. You're going to tell me how to get into that building." Sensing a glimmer of hope, the raider raised his head. "When you do, I'll let you go. Understand?" The raider nodded, liking the idea of living for awhile longer.

* * *

Than finally scrambled onto the top of the building, then looked over the side and waved at the raider. "You can go now!" he called, and the man turned and disappeared into the rubble surrounding the streets. Than turned back to survey the roof of the building. According to the raider, this had been an old hotel that the raiders had taken for its food and beds. Most of the roof was flat, with an old generator that hummed softly as it pumped electricity into the building. At least there would be lights. Than hated the idiots who liked to surround themselves in darkness. Scary and enigmatic no, more likely to blunder into a wall and give themselves away. Than had seen Gerard in action, and while he was nowhere near as good as that man in the shadows, he was better than some two-bit raider's attempts to scare off the local scavengers.

Than strode across the roof of the hotel and opened the door, then sharply whistled twice into the open air. The watcher, listening for such a signal, understood. Than had ten minutes before the building was shot to hell by Old Bessie. Than set his watch and slipped inside silently, down a flight of stairs to the top floor, where the raider had told him most of the occupants had made their home.

Than strode softly among the halls, checking each room and pocketing the useful salvage. Mostly it was just some pre-war money or some scraps that the raiders had collected, caps or metal or electronics or otherwise. Usually the rooms were empty, but on occasion he stumbled across an occupant, who was swiftly dealt with by impaling them with laser fire. Than made his way through the hotel silently, never raising the alarm or making his presence known to the raiders before he was ready to kill them.

After clearing the top floor, Than made his way to the elevator in the middle of the hotel. The raider he had released had informed him that the stairs were collapsed on most of the floors, and most levels were abandoned. Besides the top floor, the lobby was used as a guard-house and living area, and the basement was kept heated and lit for their leader, a man named Makarov. Than planned to clear out the lobby to prevent reinforcements from heading to the basement before he was done with Makarov. This involved locking the front door, and would most likely also require some quick gunplay and flashy combat moves.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Than stepped into a dimly lit lobby area, his pistol ready. "Who the shit are you?" demanded an irate raider, stumbling forward waving a pool cue. Other raiders glanced up at the newcomer, several reaching for their weapons as they too failed to recognize him.

Than shrugged and sprinted forward, passing the surprised raider before he could swing his clumsy weapon. Than's pistol was up and firing, hitting chests and heads and limbs, incapacitating three raiders in the span of two seconds. Before they could respond, Than had leapt up and over a nearby bar, putting ceramic and thick wood between himself and the remaining raiders. He had glanced around during his rush through the room, and had noticed five other raiders in the room, which was basically a large lobby that seemed to span this whole floor.

"He went that way, get him!" called the same man with the pool cue, and Than heard approaching footsteps. He popped up and shot two of the closest raiders, turning them into ash and scaring off the rest in the half-second before he was back behind the bar. "Shoot him!" shouted the pool-cue-raider, who seemed to be the leader. Immediately, bullets began pounding the stone and wood that Than was hiding behind.

Than sighed. These idiots really had no idea how to fight. They were focused on shooting his cover, instead of waiting for him to appear. In less than a second, Than popped up, the two raiders who were tearing away at his cover, then slipped back behind what was left of the bar. All that was left was the leader with the pool cue. "If you run I'll shoot you," Than warned from behind his cover. He heard" the weapon fall to the ground with a clatter.

"Come and fight me," the raider taunted. "Put away your pea shooter and let's have a fair contest." Than rolled his eyes, guessed it was a trap, slid his weapon into its holster, then stood, his hands up. Which was ironic, considering his opponent had a .44 magnum pointed at his chest.

Than sighed inwardly. There was a 50-50 shot he could turn this guy into ash before he was shot himself. He didn't like those odds. He decided it was better to play it safe and stall for time. Calmly, slowly, his hands still up, Than stepped from behind the bar, staring at the raider. He was a particularly ugly specimen. His face was sallow, probably liver failure from over-drinking. His skin was grimy everywhere, and his hair was limp and slick with grease. His nose was a pulp, having been smashed so many times it was a wonder that the raider could still breathe with it.

The raider sneered at him. "Caught ya huh?" he demanded. "It's always the same with you scavers, honor and fairness and whatnot. I should kill you right now," he went on, his eyes moving away from Than's for a moment to consider the option. Than was still moving slowly, now heading towards the windows at the other end of the lobby. Slowly, slowly…

"Don't you want to know why I'm here?" he prompted the distracted raider, still stalling as he started backing up now, his back to the windows .

"Why the hell would I want to know that?" demanded the raider, pulling the hammer back on his revolver and setting the bullet.

Than spoke quickly, almost to the windows. The raider was following him now. "No ordinary scaver could've wiped out all of your men. Think about it! Don't you know what's here?" he put urgency in his voice, counting down in his head. _15… 14… 13…_

"What are you talking about?" demanded the raider, looking around now like he expected to see some glorious pre-war tech just spring up. Than was barely listening to him now, as his back was to the windows._ 8… 7… 6…_ he counted, now stepping slightly to the side.

"It's just outside" he breathed, and the raider stepped forward, shoving him out of the way and glaring out from the hotel, into the street before him. Than let him get pushed away, counting _3… 2… 1…_ as he fell to the ground.

The raider exploded. Simply put, one moment there had been a man, the next there was a bloody pulp smeared against the far wall, and two feet, the muscles that attached them to the legs torn to pieces, still standing where the raider had been

Than fired a shot from his pistol into the ceiling, the slowly stood up from his position beneath the windows. He turned out into the street and waved, grinning at the watcher he knew could see him. "Thanks," he mouthed, before turning on his heel and running back to the elevator. Time to visit this Makarov.

* * *

**And here is where I respond to my awesome reviewers! **

**SarikOstheim:** I don't really agree with you, in regards to the actual Brotherhood. The Brotherhood in F3 was atypical, much more outward focused than its parent organization in California. Keep in mind, they want pre-war technology more than anything. Unless the Talons have a bunch of it suddenly, then they'll be largely ignored by the typical Brotherhood I hope to portray here. That being said, the Talons will have a major role to play, and don't be surprised if the BoS does as well =) Also, I plan to use the Boomstick for awhile, but I do have in-mind ways to upgrade it, don't you worry.

**Jdboss1:** Yeah, I wanted to make a fresh area, one we don't normally hear about in Fallout =D And yeah, the enemies are more likely to surrender than run at you with a stick like in the fallout games. The first girl you mention is Olivia, the second is Charlotte, the third is to be named. Yes, you're correct in thinking they'll be central to the plot in the future =) Depending on your bartering skill in fallout games, pre-war money can be worth anywhere from .5 caps to well over 10 caps apiece. It doesn't have a set value yet in the economy I've created, but rest assured, Derek has a use for the money he collects. And, as told in Fallout New Vegas (and before, when I had the original response to your review that was wiped by my crashing hard-drive) caps aren't just pressed metal, they all have insignias and serial numbers and special markings that make them unique. While I think the Pitt could possibly have a bottle press, they probably don't have the know-how to create infinity caps. Instead, they can create lots of guns to sell for lots of caps to buy their slaves to make more guns to sell for more caps and so on and so forth. =D

**Review review review! It's good for you!

* * *

*for those of you who don't know, a squawk refers to a person on a radio or walkie-talkie pressing the speak button. The listener hears this action as a specific noise the radio makes to indicate someone is about to speak. Before this, people had to say things like "over" whenever they were finished speaking into the radio. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Be sure to check out my new story in the Mass Effect Universe: Warrior Queen**

Than stepped off of the elevator and on the service level of the hotel. Somewhere nearby, a generator hummed, powering the electronic lights that lit the metallic hallways. Than moved through the different rooms, noting the lack of raiders in his way. "Didn't think anyone would get this far, did you?" he asked the absent Makarov.

This level had little of value: paint and glue, mostly. Nothing that had any value was left down here. Than didn't much care, he wasn't looking for salvage. Nonetheless, he was methodical in his search of the entire floor, checking all the rooms on one level before descending stairs to the next section. As he moved deeper and deeper below the earth, Than was conscious of how easy this was. He revised his earlier opinion of Makarov being an arrogant bastard: he was now clever one. He probably knew someone was down here with him.

Than sighed, then closed the door to the room he was searching and sat down on a chair. He had to make a plan for an ambush, or risk being seriously injured. Even a dumb raider could be lucky some day. Most likely, there were some machines roaming the halls, waiting to ask him for his security pass. Or worse, some Mark II turrets ready to plaster him to a nearby wall. From what he knew of Makarov, it wasn't likely he trusted someone else to be in charge of his own security.

If he was going to be fighting electronics, certain preparations would be prudent. Chief among them, using a new weapon. His laser was all well and good, but flesh and raider scrap armor was a lot more penetrable than a layer of metal plating.

Smiling, Than pulled the .44 magnum he had taken from the remains of the dead raider upstairs. He had enough ammunition to get him through whatever lay ahead, he was sure. He pulled an leather old leather shoe from the closet in the room and cut it with the laser, then worked the hot material into a second holster for his belt. "Perfect," he congratulated himself. He tested the holster and found it satisfactory for the pistol. "Time to keep moving."

Than slipped out of the room, closing the door softly behind him. "Let's get this over with," he breathed, moving further down the hallway. Ahead, a large metal door barred the way forward. "Well that's pretty obvious," he complained, striding forward and pulling the release catch. The door's old gears screeched in protest as it slid apart and open. Than stepped inside.

"Unauthorized entry," a mechanical voice buzzed. Than jumped back through the door as a hail of Gatling laser fire lanced through the space he had just occupied. A sentry bot rolled through the doorway in pursuit. "Cease fleeing, termination imminent."

Than, waiting around the corner of the doorway, raised his .44 and fired two shots. The first broke through the ocular sensors of the robot, entering through the thin glass covering and demolishing the circuitry it protected. The second punched through the thick metal plating in the chest, traveling through circuitry and tubing before piercing the robot's fission battery.

"System error: energy source compromised, switching toooo…" the robot's voice trailed off as it died, the battery's acid leaking out and turning the inner circuitry into little more than useless sludge.

Than looked at the pistol in his hand, grinning. "I like this gun," he declared, putting it back in its holster and entering the door ahead once again. Inside were several computers, probably linked to the building above him. Stepping up to one, he punched in the activation code and the old machine whirred to life. It took about twelve seconds to hack, then the various processes displayed themselves.

The first few were just memo entries, complaining of a gas leak in the lowest part of the basement, or requesting more parts for the A/C on the roof. Considering their date, Than assumed most of these requests were never dealt with. Below these were the utilities this terminal controlled: water purification, power, and access to the main terminal. Than keyed up this option, but was told he needed an "administrator's permission" before connecting from this terminal. Sighing, he closed the machine and perused the rest of the room.

There were twp exits. One went back the way he had come, the other went deeper underground. Than tapped the access pad and the door slid open. Drawing the magnum, he cautiously went forward, then descended yet another flight of stairs.

Than knew he had to be getting close to Makarov by now. Besides the presence of more robots he had to get rid of, there were signs of habitation on this lowest level. Doors were opened where the robots would have shut them. Sheets had been swiped from the beds. Most notably, vending machines were stocked full. Someone was going through the trouble of keeping food down here.

Rounding another corner, Than quickly jumped back to avoid a hail of laser fire. "Unauthorized entry detected. Terminating with extreme prejudice," the protectron droned, its footsteps clumping down the hallway towards him. Than sighed, then rolled out, knowing the limited AI of the robot would be expecting an intruder of the same height. From his low position, Than fired up into the robot's chassis, rupturing several circuit boards and causing the protectron's head to explode.

Picking himself up, Than smiled when he saw what the robot had been guarding: a large room housing several processing banks. "Bingo," he gloated, stepping over the smoking husk into the main terminal area. He keyed up the activation sequence, and the machine came alive, demanding a password. Than hacked the terminal, taking his time to be sure he wasn't locked out.

After several minutes, the machine beeped and unlocked, displaying a full range of settings for the hotel's various functions. But Than's eyes were drawn to one in particular: the security. He brought up the options and was surprised to see more than one. He spotted the usual "shutdown" command. But under that was a "clear targeting parameters" option. And below that was a "set new parameters," option. Than assumed Makarov had used this to prevent security from killing him. Grinning mischievously, he cleared all parameters, then hit the enter button. The machine processed the command, then told Than it was finished. He shut down the terminal, then waited.

Sure enough, gunfire sounded from further in the labyrinth. Than sprinted from the terminal and followed the sounds of battle, passing several more turns and doors. The gunfire continued, growing louder and beginning to be accompanied by shouts and commands. Rounding a final bend, Than forced open a door and took in the scene before him.

A few raiders, a woman and two men, were desperately fighting off a horde of machines of all kinds. Than considered letting them tear each other to pieces, but remembered he needed to question one of them. Sighing, he opened fire with both pistols, cutting through several machines before anyone realized he was there. Several robots turned toward him, but they were caught between the four fighters, and soon the humans were alone among smoking hulks of metal.

One of the men turned to Than, his gun raised, but Than had both weapons pointed at both men. One of the men was a large, burly red-head, grimy all over. The second was much thinner, smaller, and cleaner, but the reaver on his belt looked positively filthy. The woman was wearing form-fitting armor, and her blonde hair was tied suggestively in pig-tails. A real looker.

"Tell your woman to keep the gun down or I'll shoot the both of you," he ordered. The woman, half naked, had her assault rifle raised and pointed at him. Both the men looked at her, as if pleading. Than felt a hint of doubt. What if…

A second too late, he dodged to the left. An instant later, an agonizing fire erupted in his shoulder. The woman was their leader! Cursing his bad luck, Than fired from both pistols as he spun to flee the room. A bullet lodged into the skull of one of the men, killing him instantly. A laser bolt lanced through the gut of another man, probably incinerating a few internal organs. He doubled over, moaning feebly. The woman ignored them both, calmly continuing to shoot at the retreating enemy.

Than didn't want to risk slowing down, so turning to fire back was not an option. So he did the only thing he could: run. He relied on his speed and ignored the bullets whizzing past him, trusting his body to carry him to safety. He barreled through the doorway and out of the line of fire, panting as the adrenaline pumped through his system. He stopped and leaned against the wall beside the door, listening for activity from the woman inside. His right shoulder ached from the gunshot, but he ignored the pain. He couldn't shoot the magnum with any accuracy now, so he holstered it and kissed the butt of his laser pistol, praying for luck.

"I assume from your presence that all of my men are dead," the woman commented nonchalantly, like she was describing a bit of salvage she had discovered. Her voice had a soft lilt, which contrasted with her surroundings. "You do realize how frustrating it was to get them all to follow me? Me! A woman? I can't believe you're making me start all over." Footsteps sounded as she approached the doorway, before stopping a few feet away. "The hallway is too long for you to get to the next turn before I put a bullet in you. I won't miss this time." Than realized she was right: his footsteps would signal he was trying to flee, and she'd jump out to shoot him. He was stuck running in a straight line, and she'd be able to hit him for sure this time.

"I'm a patient woman. I know that bullet wound will kill you eventually, I probably hit a major artery or two," she continued. Right again, Than thought. He was bleeding out, wouldn't risk using a stimpack while she was so close. "So you either run, and die, or bleed out and die," she told him. "Or, you come out and I can end it for you quickly."

Than sighed. He was out of options. "I owe Derek twelve caps," he complained. Closing his eyes, the young man forced his breathing to slow and deepen. He concentrated on the path in front of him, remembering every possible detail about where the doorway next to him was, and how many steps it would take to draw level with the woman that wanted to kill him. He repeated the process over and over, counting the steps and memorizing the route until it became reflexive. As easy as breathing.

Eyes still closed, he took a step forward.

The woman, gun raised and pointed toward the door, noticed a slight blur of motion in front of her. She blinked, and it was gone. "Eyes playing tricks," she mumbled.

Than took one careful, measured step after the other, his eyes always closed. He counted them, then stopped when he knew he was level with the woman. "Eyes playing tricks," he heard her say as he opened his eyes. He grinned and raised his laser pistol, pointing it at her head. "Nope," he informed her as she stared, wide-eyed, at him. She was dumbfounded. There was no way he had gotten to her from the door. There simply hadn't been enough time. She had seen him running away, and thought he was pretty light on his feet. But this had been something else entirely.

Than grinned and knew she was trying to fit the distance into the span of a few seconds, and knew she was coming up short. Letting her stew for a few moments, he then kicked the rifle from her hands. "We're going to have a nice chat, you and I," he informed her. "Shall we get comfortable?"

Still stunned, the woman nodded dumbly, and the two of them moved to a couch in the room behind them. "So, you're Makarov?" he asked, still holding his gun on her as he reached into his pack for a stimpack.

She nodded. "Yes, I am." Normally she would've been silent as a 'fuck you' to her captors, but she was afraid of what else this boy could accomplish.

Than nodded, happy his search was at an end. He jabbed the needle from the stimpack into his neck and depressed the plunger, sighing softly as the liquid flowed into his blood. In a few moments, the river of blood coming from his shoulder was staunched. "Well, Makarov, we need to talk about your friends on the HAM radio."

Makarov was startled. "How did you know about them?"

"One of your raider friends told me. He was scared shitless the whole time," Than informed her, shooting another stimpack into his neck.

Makarov sighed. "Well, you probably know about the lifts we've been pulling from the Brotherhood trains."

"Sure do!" Than said cheerfully. "But that's not why I'm here."

The woman shifted uncomfortably. "The first time the radio turned on, all it said was to keep stealing from the Brotherhood. It was profitable, so I wasn't complaining."

Than nodded. "Makes sense."

"Then, they started giving me other instructions," she continued, lowering her voice and sounding ashamed. If Than had to guess, it was because she didn't like taking orders. "I tried to ignore them… but people started disappearing."

"Like how?" Than asked, for clarification.

"One day one of my men went to take a leak and never went back. The next day, two spotters on the roof vanished, and the third had no idea how. The next day a patrol of three people didn't return…"

"I assume it kept increasing?" Than reasoned.

Makarov nodded. "By the time I realized, we had lost half of my men. I didn't hesitate after that, I started to do what they asked."

"Which was?" Than prompted.

She shifted again, obviously uncomfortable. "To start with, they had us leave supplies at random drops. Just some food and a few guns."

"I assume it didn't stay that way?" Than asked. It seemed like she had been supplying whomever had been using the radio. But that didn't explain her discomfort.

Makarov shook her head. "Soon they started telling me to go to different parts of the city and… kill whatever was there."

Than raised an eyebrow at that one. "Rival gangs?"

She shook her head. "Wildlife."

"Oh? Chimera and myrelurks?"

Another head-shake. "Something bigger."

"Bigger?" Than asked, skeptical. "Bigger than a myrelurk?"

The woman nodded. "Bigger, meaner, much more lethal." She was clearly on edge now. Whatever she had been asked to hunt down had spooked her.

"Describe it," Than told her.

Her eyes went to his, and there was fear in them. That was rare for a wastelander, and even more-so for a raider. Makarov knew how to handle herself, that much was obvious. But she was thoroughly spooked. "It stands on two legs. Over eight feet tall. It has horns and big teeth, and claws that can gut you with one swipe. The skin is scaly, like a lizard's." She paused, and gulped. "And the eyes!" she went on. "They're not some animal's eyes. They're intelligent. A hunter's eyes. They look at you and you can't help but be scared, because both of you know who will win in a fight."

"Deathclaw," Than murmured.

She nodded, indicating he was right. "That's what they called them, too."

"The voices on the radio?"

The woman nodded again. "There were never more than two at a given spot. But after the first time, I knew to bring as many people as I could spare. Explosives worked best, but failing that shotguns always helped. They liked to get in close. They're almost as fast as you."

Than couldn't help but grin at that one. "What was there? Where you went to kill the deathclaws?"

Makarov shrugged. "Always bodies, but they were usually torn and bloody. But I was told not to touch them, or else. And I knew better by then to defy orders."

"Anything else?" Than asked. "It could be very important."

The woman thought for a moment, before a spark lit behind her eyes. "Cages. There were always cages wherever we went. Metal boxes, more like, but they looked like they would hold a deathclaw or two."

Than nodded. "I see." He thought for a moment, processing the information. "Well, this brings us to an awkward position," he informed her. "Since you don't know anything else, I don't have any further use for you. I'd like to let you go, honest. Your raider friend who was kind enough to help me get to you got away with is life. But I'm fairly certain if I do the same for you, you'll just make more trouble. For me and everyone."

Makarov's eyes dropped again, and her tone was hopeless when she spoke next; "I can't disagree. All I know how to do is fight, really. Well, fight and fuck."

"At least you're honest," Than said with a wry smile. He primed his laser pistol and centered it between her eyes. "Any last words?"

Her eyes, a striking silver color, closed, and she breathed deeply. "The eyes are not here. There are no eyes here," she murmured. "In this valley of dying stars. This-"

"-Hollow valley," Than finished, causing Makarov's eyes to open in surprise. "This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms."

"This is the dead land," she breathed, her eyes hopeful now.

"This is cactus land," Than responded, lowering his weapon and smiling. "Hollow Men is my favorite poem."

She smiled too. "Does this mean I get to live?"

Than shrugged. "I still don't know what to do with you. Knowing a bit of poetry doesn't change that."

Makarov's face dropped. The young man had a point Even if she promised not to go against him, all she could really do was find somewhere else to fight, and there was no guarantee they wouldn't cross paths again. Better to eliminate the threat now, while he still could. But wait, there was one thing she could do! "Take me with you!" she suddenly insisted.

Than laughed. "I just wiped out all of your friends and stormed your fortress, and you want to follow me around?"

The woman shook her head. "They weren't my friends. I just made sure they didn't kill each other."

"You sounded pretty angry before," Than insisted.

"Wouldn't you be pissed if some random man ran into your house and smashed all the furniture? Same thing, more intelligent furniture."

Than considered that. "So you're willing to drop everything and head off with me?"

Makarov nodded. "Consider me a damsel in distress."

He laughed at that one. "How old are you?" he asked. "Damsels have an age requirement."

"Twenty-five, I think."

Than laughed. "You are a little old for me to be saving you."

She pouted. "Stop that. Can I come with you or not?"

"That is not how you ask someone whether you can live or die," Than responded, though the point was ruined by the smile on his face. He sighed, then relented. "If you have your heart set on continuing to breath this burning air, then you can come with."

Makarov's face brightened considerably. She sprang forward and embraced him, and he cried out when she irritated his shoulder wound. "Sorry! Sorry!" she said, leaping back and throwing up her hands in case he was mad. "I'm really sorry for shooting you now, honest."

A bitter smile crossed Than's features, and he shot himself up with another stimpack, this one right to the shoulder. "It's a little late for that," he informed her. "But you sure seem eager to leave this place."

She laughed. "Yeah, it's pretty dreary, being held hostage by a radio. It's nice to be free for once."

Than stood from the couch. "Well if you're coming, get whatever you need. We need to go report back to my boss."

She nodded and stood, trotting off to gather her belongings. Than considered what he was doing, taking a random raider queen with him to meet Gaulm. But he knew if she was lying, Gaulm would figure it out, and then kill her for wasting his time. He was like that. So he didn't care either way. There wasn't much harm in it, and he could potentially gain a companion. An attractive, openly sexual companion. The possibilities were endless.

Makarov returned with a small satchel, still in her revealing outfit. She retrieved her rifle from where he had kicked it away from her, then bounded back to him, eager to leave. "Ready to go?" she asked.

Than nodded. "Let's go Makarov," he ordered, setting off for the ground floor.

"Oh, call me Lily," she said, skipping after him.

* * *

**The Hollow Men is a very good poem by T.S. Elliot. I highly recommend it: it mirrors Fallout quite well.**


	9. Chapter 9

**To note: Those of you who assume I am basing the Umpire off of Mr. House from New Vegas, you are very wrong. I began this fanfiction before New Vegas was even announced. Still, it's nice to know that great minds think alike.**

**Now, as always, enjoy the new chapter! Read and review and critique! **

**PS: I'm looking for a beta. Anyone interested, send me a PM and we can get to know each other.  
**

**

* * *

**"…and finally, there seem to be issues with the local power-station. Raw Border has been getting more brownouts this month than before, and we can't raise the crew who keeps the node running. Anyone willing to investigate come to me for an advance payment of 200 caps. Returning with the status of the crew nets a payment of 300 more caps. Anyone who can fix whatever the hell is wrong with the station itself will net 600 more beyond that."

Derek cleared his throat and prepared for the next portion of his speech. "Well, now we come to the bounties of the week. This week we feature a clever little group of ghouls who fancy themselves creature tamers. They've been using ferals to raid caravans to keep us off their trail. But an anonymous source has tipped us off to the truth. Clear out the feral ghoul pack that they run with and you get 120 caps. Apparently there are 6 of them: mostly glowing ones and reavers. The three who are running them are worth 200 apiece. That's all for now. Don't die on me Sin'Nati,"

Derek set the microphone down and stepped away from the console. Turning, he noticed Charlotte leaning against the wall next to the elevator. She was smiling at him. He returned the expression, though he was concerned about how she had made it up to the radio booth. Not just anyone was allowed up here, and she was a prisoner beyond that. Still, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. Gripping his crowbar a little tighter, he approached he approached her in an otherwise calm and collected manner. "Adventurous are we?" he inquired, depressing the down button on the access panel and leaning against the elevator doors next to her.

Her smile didn't disappear as she eyed the lower half of his body. He assumed she was watching the crowbar in his hand, but one never knew. "I was just curious," she explained in a completely innocent voice.

"Curious?" he asked, wondering in spite of himself.

"How does a… boy such as yourself come to be in charge of such a formidable organization?" she pressed.

The elevator dinged, and they both stepped in. Derek chose the floor where Charlotte was supposed to be held, and the mechanical apparatus groaned as it began to lower them. He turned and regarded his companion critically. "A prisoner doesn't endear herself to her captors by asking for sensitive information," he informed her.

"Oh, so it _is_ sensitive!" she gloated, pleased to know that bit of information. "Now I'm even more interested!"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Clever girl. Now stop talking before I decide to punish you for being out of your cell."

Charlotte pouted. "But it's so lonesome in there!" she complained in a pleading voice, purposefully leaning towards him suggestively. "I could certainly use some… company." One of her hands reached forward to brush his chest.

He sighed and caught her hand at the wrist, pushing her back against the opposite wall. She looked at him, eyes wide with some emotion. Pain? Surprise? He wasn't sure, and it didn't much matter. "Don't," he warned her in a tone that brooked no argument. The tension lasted another moment, then the doors slid open. Derek stepped out without turning to see if Charlotte would follow. She did anyways.

"You still haven't answered my question," she murmured as they walked down the hall.

He sighed and turned to face her. His expression was solemn, and his tone admonishing. "Even my closest allies have no idea where I come from, where my father comes from. Why on this forsaken earth should I tell you?"

"I'll tell you a secret in return," she promised in a quiet voice. He was surprised to find that there were tears swimming in her eyes.

Derek stepped forward and took her hand. "Look," he said, staring into her eyes. "I can't tell you much. Not without betraying some very important people and putting a lot of well laid plans in jeopardy." Still holding her hand, he led her back to the room she was using as her cell. It had a bed and a radio, a chair, a window that was far too high to jump out of, and little else. He sat in the chair, and she sat on the bed facing him.

He heaved a very deep, emotional sigh. "I'll start at the beginning."

* * *

_Long ago, before the earth was bathed in fire, thousands of Americans retreated into a network of vast underground vaults in order to escape what was to come. What wasn't known to the public, however, was that the Vaults also served as field testing sites for various projects undertaken by the government. Deep within Vault 706, for instance, a very dangerous experiment was taking place. Four children of the same age were chosen as the subjects for a host of chemical injections, all to create what was called the "perfect man." Different from the FEV virus, which was supposed to be mass produced for the armed forces, these experiments were meant for a select few to "overcome limitations set upon them by mere evolution," as the head scientist put it. _

_One the bombs hit, the vault doors were sealed, and the experiments could proceed without the distractions of outside interference. Four serums were developed, based on the slightly abnormal genetic material the children themselves already possessed. Speed, perception, strength, and regeneration, all were harnessed deep beneath the burning sky above. Each child was given one prototype, and gene projections showed miraculous success. Then the next step came. _

_A single distillation of the four serums was created. Within it contained the raw material to bring a perfect man into being. But there wasn't enough for all of the occupants of the vault to become a god. To make more would require time and resources no one could spare. Everyone decided _they_ wanted to become perfection, and no one wished to sacrifice their claim for the sake of peace.__ And so the war continued into Vault 706 decades after it had ended in the world above. The last surviving occupants of the Vault were the four children, unaware of the fighting that had gone on around them. They remained in stasis, perfectly preserved for the next 200 years. _

_An enterprising tribal had somehow procured the password to Vault 706 and had entered alone. Inside, he had discovered not only the signs of carnage that had taken place, but also the research notes of the scientists there. Realizing what he had discovered, the tribal searched madly for the serum, desperate to claim perfection as his own. And finally, decades after it had been created, the serum fell into the hands of a single, determined tribal. He administered it with the help of the research notes he had discovered, and a god was born, far beneath the earth.  
_

_However, his most valuable prize had been the four children, perfectly preserved by the vault's computer. He brought them back into the world and took them out of the vault with him. He traveled far to the north, his newfound abilities proving highly useful in the wastes as he fended for all five of them. As they grew, he was happy to see that the gene projections had not been wrong. Each child had shown remarkable skill. He suspected, based on what he could observe, that they even surpassed him. Whether it was because the combination of all four concoctions had made them less potent, or the fact that their bodies were 200 years more used to the serum than his was, or any number of other reasons, he wasn't entirely sure. _

_Eventually, they made it to a burgeoning settlement set in an old baseball stadium. The ruler of this place quickly noticed the remarkable man and his children, by now young men. Eventually, he asked to see them. They went willingly, and at his inquiry had, in the privacy of his chambers, displayed their amazing abilities before him. _

"_Work with me," he implored them. "Let me put your powers to use for the good of whatever humanity has left in these wastes." The man agreed, and he and his children moved north, into the decaying ruins of Cincinnati with a host of guards behind them. With the group's remarkable strength, they cleared roads with ease. With their perception, they spotted snipers and ambushes well in advance, saving valuable men. With their speed, they could lure the wildlife into traps, avoiding more needless death. And with their regeneration, they were unafraid of radiation, and could cross through subways, sewers, and other toxic areas to find other ways across for their followers. _

_Their army stood in awe of these abilities, and fought all the harder to clear what was left of the city of its filth. They chose to live in Carew Tower for its remarkably intact structure, vantage point over the rest of the city, and its radio tower. They put out the message from this tower as far away as Maryland, Tenessee, Illinois, Pennsylvania, and Canada. "Come to Sin'Nati," they called. "Help us defend the Raw Border against its enemies. Help us prop humanity up before it destroys itself utterly." _

_They came. Hundreds of them, came across the nuclear desert to the north, the raider gangs to the east and west, and the sick, bleeding Ohio to the south. "We will help you," they said. "We do not wish to see humanity fall." And under the powerful man and his four powerful children, a new bastion of civilization was formed. Sadly, even civilized man has his flaws. _

_A woman, remarkable as the five who stood atop the Raw Border for her beauty, insinuated himself with them. For a time, all was well. The man's children adored their new mother. And she adored them as well, and raised them as her own, as their father did. But one day, she asked him how all of this had come about. So he told her, believing his secret would be well guarded and kept safe by the woman he loved dearly. Sadly, the serum still held its power over men, used as it was. The woman grew jealous of her lover's abilities and desired them for her own. The man she could not have, he was certain of his mission. She watched the children then, waiting for a weakness to exploit. She was certain, as their father was, that they would surpass him. And one day, her opportunity came. _

_A day came, as such days often do in parenthood, when the father had to discipline one of his children. The offense committed is long forgotten, the punishment given fair and justified. But stubborn children will be stubborn. This child clung to the belief that he had been wronged for a bit longer than normal, and this was when the mother pounced, like a deathclaw matron on her unsuspecting prey. She showed her exemplary powers in another fashion: the words she used were toxic, poisonous, intended to corrupt the child's soul and turn him away from his father and siblings. _

_Slowly, little by little, the young man changed. He saw every gift his father gave to one of his siblings as showing whom he favored, he saw every service they performed as subverting his own standing, and he saw his mother as the only one besides him who knew the truth. His father tried to reach him, but to no avail. The poison had claimed him. Finally, the day came when the mother fled the Raw Border with her prize in tow. His siblings were devastated, and the group was fractured beyond repair. Two of the siblings found a friend in an old man who knew their father well. He trusted this man as much as he trusted his left hand, and told them they were safe with him. The old man took his children away from the Raw Border, determined to have them continue doing good without the risk of betrayal. _

_Only one child stayed with his father. One, of the four he had loved more dearly than his own self, still remained. He wanted to stay and help his father through the loss of his other children, wanted to continue to hold the line against extinction. His father was grateful, and never forgot the determination of his last-remaining son.

* * *

_

Finished telling his story, Derek leaned back against the wall. It had been a long time since he had recanted the facts for anyone, even himself. It felt odd to think of himself as over 200 years old, but it wasn't like he could change his circumstances. On the bed, Charlotte was silent as she processed his story. "Well?" he asked. "Glad you know where I came from?"

She didn't acknowledge him for several moments. Finally she asked "What can you do?" in a small voice.

Derek clenched his fist tightly. He didn't like showcasing his powers: too much room for speculation, accusations, and jealous ignorance. Still, the fact that she knew what he was, and that they were in private, meant there wasn't much risk to revealing himself. Instead of just telling her, he stood and walked to the door. Opening it slowly, he slipped his hand into the threshold. Taking a moment to steady himself, he slammed the door onto his hand, shattering the bone and pulverizing the muscle. Charlotte cried out behind him, and rushed to pull him back from the door before he could hurt himself further.

"Calm down," Derek said calmly, though the pain was evident in his voice. She took his hand and and began examining the damage. But before her eyes, it was repairing itself. The crushed muscle seemed to be expanding back into its original shape. Beneath her hands, she felt the bone knitting back together, and soon Derek's smashed hand was completely healed. "I've been smashed up more times than I care to remember," he explained matter-of-factly. "Just like using a muscle more often makes it stronger, my body can heal these kinds of things easily."

"So the reason your arms healed more slowly is…" she said, trying to puzzle it out for herself.

"I'm not very well acquainted with puncture wounds, like getting shot. So yes, the next time I get shot I'll probably heal even faster," he explained for her. After the fighting at the theater in Mt. Adams, his arms had been fine in about two days.

"What about radiation?" she asked.

"Well I take showers every morning. I guess you could say radiation doesn't really affect me at all."

Charlotte nodded. That made sense. Since his cells regenerated rapidly anyways, there was no risk of cancer. "So… how are you stronger than your father? I mean, with regeneration?" She broached the subject carefully, wondering if he was sensitive about the man who had rescued them.

Derek sat back down in the chair and didn't look at her. "Neither of us can die," he confessed, in a subdued tone. It was obvious he had thought about this a long time. "Age, that is, wrinkles, brittle bones, bad eyesight, etc. is caused by a breakdown of the DNA in your cells. Before the war, scientists theorized that this had to do with the loss of your neurons, or brain cells. So, either my DNA is repairing itself, or my brain cells can replicate where most people's simply die off. Whatever the reason, I stopped aging five years ago."

Charlotte was simply speechless. This… boy, creation, monstrous- no, he wasn't a monster. But whatever he _was_, he had certainly broken the very laws of nature his creators had set out to dismantle. In an awestruck voice she pressed on. "And your father?"

He shrugged. "He's stopped at thirty or so. Time can't move backwards, but he stopped getting older the moment he injected himself with the serum."

"You haven't answered my question though," she continued. "How are you stronger? I can see how your brothers could be faster, more perceptive, and stronger, but how does your ability give you the edge?"

The 'young' man stood up again and regarded her carefully. "You're much too curious for your own good," he stated bluntly. "Why should I tell you this?"

"Why not?" she retorted, a little defensive. "You've told me everything else. Why stop?"

Derek nodded slowly. This was very true. "All right, I'll tell you." He sat back into the chair and looked up at her, resolution in his eyes. "Remember what I said about using a muscle and it getting stronger?" When she nodded, he continued, "well the same is true for bones, skin, and other tissue. Even parts of the brain increase in size or density when they're used more frequently." Charlotte continued nodding, following so far. "When my father heals, his tissue repairs itself to the exact standard it was before. But when I regenerate…" here he hesitated, but only for a moment, "I get stronger every time."

Charlotte gulped, unsure of the exact implications of what she had just heard. "What do you mean, exactly?"

Derek suddenly became very excited. He wanted to tell her what he could do, if only to be understood, and not judged. He began speaking rapidly, his sentences flowing un-beckoned from deep within. "It's more than just being able to heal faster from a gunshot. Next time, the bullet won't penetrate nearly as far, because the muscle and skin will thicken. My lungs have repaired so much damage from radioactive air, I can run a six mile sprint and still be breathing evenly. And every time I walk, or move, thousands of skin and muscle cells are replaced by stronger, more resilient ones. Even my showers in the morning have given me an immunity to cancer, or the tumor cells are now part of the healing process because they replicate so fast."

Charlotte listened to his explanations silently. "And… is there a limit to this?" she murmured, breaking him off in the middle of his excited rambling.

"Oh yes, of course," Derek responded, his tone suddenly more controlled, more calm. "My body knows what works and what doesn't. I can only have skin and bones become so dense before it does more harm than good to simply move. And my muscles don't want to break my bones with every contraction. It's always a balance of forces, just like a regular body."

Charlotte nodded for what felt like the thousandth time, accepting this information, along with everything else he had revealed. "Thank you… for telling me," she said, her voice filled with genuine appreciation.

"So what happens now?" he asked her. His gaze became piercing, as he waited to see if her response would be truthful.

"I… won't tell anyone," she promised. "Of that you have my word."

Derek saw no untruth in her, and he smiled to show his appreciation. "And where will you go?"

"Do I have to go anywhere?" she asked, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. "Are you making me leave?"

He held up his hands to console her. "Of course not. Stay as long as you wish."

The relief was plain on her face. Odd, she had seemed to independent and strong earlier. Now, it seemed that he could break her in two with a snap of his fingers. "Thank you…" she breathed.

"Well, what's your secret?" he asked. He was suddenly eager to hear more about the woman he had just revealed more to than anyone else.

"O-oh… my secret?" she asked, sounding like she had just been awoken from a dream.

"Ye-es…" he replied, a hint of sarcasm sneaking into his voice. "The one you said you'd tell me."

Charlotte gulped, then looked at the door. Her expression said she wished dearly to be somewhere else, anywhere else, but where she was. This went on for several long, awkward moments. "Okay…" she said finally, sounding like she had resolved herself to some fate. "The truth is…" she muttered, not looking at him. "The truth is, I'm a spy."


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey guys! Sorry this one took so long, but I had to extensively rewrite it to satisfy m desire for good characterization. As always, a special shout-out to m faithful beta Amymimi! She's very fast and gives me great feedback! Don't be afraid to try reviewing yourself! I encourage any and all types of critiquing!

* * *

**

The look in Derek's eyes hardened immediately. He stood quickly, moving between her and the door in one swift motion. Charlotte noticed, once again, the titanium crowbar in his hand. He was squeezing it so hard that his knuckles were white, and she could see the muscles straining. But besides that, he maintained perfect composure. His face, which had been animated moments before, was now a marble mask. There were no emotions in his eyes, besides a hard edge that she had seen before. He used the same image when he threatened his men with death if they continued to question him.

"Explain," he ordered coolly.

"I… it's a long story," Charlotte excused lamely.

"You're not going anywhere anytime soon," Derek responded, steel thick in his voice, "except maybe on a one way trip out the window if you don't start talking."

Charlotte glanced at the window involuntarily, already well aware that she would not survive the descent if it came to that. "Derek, I-"she began, her tone pleading.

"You," he interrupted quickly, "are a spy. By your own admission, I might add. A spy who now knows far too much. A spy I am giving _one_ chance to plead her case before I kill her. I can afford the risk; you're no threat to me. Now start talking," he ordered once again. But a subtle change had come over Charlotte now. Before, there had been indecision, confusion, and inner turmoil etched all over her. As he had spoken, however, a cold certainty had come over her. She looked at him now as what she was, strong, fierce, and not to be beaten down. Derek cocked his neck to one side, feeling the joints pop. This would be interesting.

Charlotte took two quick steps forward to get within arm's length of him. Derek tried to step aside, but there was little room to move in the cramped apartment. So instead he took the blow she had aimed at his neck in the shoulder instead. He was surprised by the amount of force her fist had behind it, but she was nowhere near the strongest opponent he had ever faced. He accepted the blow and countered with a jab from his crowbar into her gut.

Not expecting such a quick recovery, Charlotte took the attack full on, doubling over in pain and gasping for breath. Derek calmly stepped around her, and then took a swing at her exposed back with his weapon. He knew how to hit hard enough to elicit pangs of agony without severing her spine. "No…" he said as she collapsed onto the floor, whimpering now. "…threat…" he continued, striking at her ribs as she tried to rise. She screamed in pain as several of them fractured, causing her to fall prostrate once again. "…to me," he finished, pointing the sharp end of his crowbar downward and stabbing it into the back of her knee.

Charlotte cried out in mortal anguish as he crippled her. But Derek didn't stop pushing his crowbar until he had split her kneecap in two. She'd heal just fine with stimpacks and proper doctoring, but it would be months before she could do so much as walk around the tower. Not that he intended to let her heal. "Come out," he ordered the seemingly empty room.

Several of the tiles on the floor crumpled and fell aside as a form rose out of the apartment's disguised false floor. Justice looked over and hissed in reflexive sympathy for the pathetic figure of Charlotte. Her blood was pooling on the ground around her, and it didn't look like Derek was in any mood to help her. He just stood there, staring with hidden emotions at the beaten woman. He released his crowbar, and it remained stuck in her leg, standing straight up like it was fixed in concrete. "When you said watch her, I… wondered why you wanted me to do it myself," Justice said in an effort to end the silence.

His words seemed to awaken Derek. The man stepped forward, grasped his weapon firmly, and yanked it out of Charlotte's tortured knee. The poor woman's cries had died down, but at this she gave one final shriek of torment. Derek was glad his father had fixed a few of the rooms to be cells. Soundproofing and hidden watchers were a useful tool in keeping prisoners in line. He turned and pointed the sharp end of the crowbar, still dripping with blood, at Justice. "You will tell no one what you heard in this room."

The Regulator nodded quickly, holding up his hands. "Of course! I'm the first one to agree that we need to protect civilization however we can!" Derek searched his face, and then lowered the crowbar slowly, still watching him. Justice stepped warily to the side, getting close enough to the silent form of Charlotte to lean down and check on her. She was still breathing, but they were short, ragged gasps. "You probably broke a few ribs," he informed the other man. "She can barely breathe."

Derek's silence caused Justice to glance in his direction. Derek was staring, trancelike once again, at Charlotte. A single tear had broken through his stony façade to trail down Derek's face. Noticing Justice's scrutiny, he spoke; his voice emotionless, "give her a stimpack. One. Then take her to Simes." Justice nodded and took a stimpack from his belt. He stuck the needle in her neck and depressed the plunger. After a few moments, her breathing relaxed, and the blood flow from her knee subsided.

Justice lifted her into his arms, taking care not to aggravate her broken ribcage. "Cover her up," Derek said, still staring at the spot where she had fallen. Justice looked around for something to use, finally yanking the sheets off of the bed and draping them over his charge. With one final glance at Derek, he turned and left, Charlotte moaning softly in his arms. Once outside, however, he quickly sat her down and fished another stimpack out of his belt. He moved the sheets around, uncovered an arm, and stuck the needle into the vein and dosed her again. Then he hurriedly pocketed the spent syringe and got on his way.

Derek didn't move for awhile after Justice had left. He stood there, staring at the bloodstain Charlotte had left on the floor. No more tears adorned his face, though inside he felt a tide of bitter resentment drowning him. He had never wanted any of this: the power, the abilities, the leadership, none of it. He gave a short bark of frustrated laughter at the irony of his own existence: he hated what he was while others hated him for being it. Of the few who did know, no one really understood. Olivia was oblivious to his emotions, being friendly only when it suited her. He knew she fully expected him to come crawling back and apologize for his aloofness of late.

Simes cared, but only in the way he cared about everyone else: a tool to be used for the betterment of man. It wasn't his fault. The ghoul was very good at what he did, for a very good reason. That left only one other person who actually knew what Derek was anymore. Everyone else was either dead or so far gone they didn't matter.

Derek felt a fresh wave of misery wash over him as he thought of his father. He had loved the man, once. In a way, he still did. But his father had never been the same since Derek's mother had stolen his sibling away. He had never once shown his grief, though the three who remained had sensed it there, festering below his broken smile like an infection. The others had given up: gone away with Gaulm to save the world in their own way. Actually, it was more like they had fled with him, knowing things would get worse. Only he had stayed behind. He had _wanted_ to stay behind. He had _wanted_ to help his father. He still did! Instead, Derek had been forced to watch his father, the man he had once seen as invulnerable, fall beneath the weight of the world he had taken upon himself.

It had been gradual at first: he pushed his friends, his partners, and his child, away. He made plans by himself, discussions were replaced by commands, and the tower had become a dictatorship. Then the purges had come. Those who knew the truth were assigned on "diving operations," dubbed such by his father. They were given the bare minimum amount of men and supplies, and then sent deep into the "sea" of enemies to the east and west on "vital preemptive strikes." There was always someone there that needed killing. And there was always someone in the Raw Border that needed disposed of. No one suspected an ulterior motive.

Derek had been sickened by all of it: the betrayal of honest men, his father's paranoia, his gradual withdrawal from leadership until his son had been forced to begin making decisions. This latest stunt, leaving Carew Tower entirely with what few men he still trusted, was his father's escape attempt from a role he had long since given up. That Derek was now stuck here made no difference. He would keep the mantle that his father had discarded through lack of faith. Even if he despised all of it; his abilities, the role he had been forced into, what his father now was, he would run himself ragged to ensure a future for humanity.

A knock at the open door startled Derek out of his revere. Spinning, his crowbar up and ready to strike, he came face-to-face with the girl he had rescued from the Talon Company slavers. She stood there in the doorway, looking unafraid of the threat posed by his weapon. Instead, she was staring worriedly at the pool of blood on the floor. "Why?" she asked him simply, not averting her gaze. The girl always spoke softly, with as few words as possible. Some part of her was still afraid of punishment for being too forward. In the few weeks since the battle at Mt. Adams, Derek had tried giving her multiple names, but she insisted on being called Slave.

Derek shrugged, and then remembered she wasn't looking at him. "Someone wanted to betray me. I don't take that sort of thing well."

"Who?" was the soft response.

"Charlotte. The woman who came back from the slavers with you," he explained.

The young girl looked up at him now, the concern still plain in her eyes. "She okay?"

Derek shrugged. "I don't know. I hurt her pretty badly."

The girl, Slave, for lack of a better name, tilted her head in curiosity. "You not sorry?"

Derek sighed, and his shoulders sagged. He found that, in spite of the malice he had felt to the woman, he honestly was disgusted with himself for assaulting her that way. "Yes," he said in a subdued tone. "I wish I hadn't now."

"Good," she said in a much happier tone. She gestured to the blood on the floor. "Too much like where I'm from. People here nicer, I'm happier."

Derek gave her a small smile. "I'll try not to hurt anyone if it upsets you."

Slave's expression brightened considerably, and she ran forward to hug him bodily. "Feel better?" she mumbled into his midsection.

A little startled, Derek patted her head in return. "Yeah, I am. Thanks… Slave." He mumbled the last word, still a little averse to the idea of that being her name.

But the look on her face when he called her that was ecstatic. She beamed up at him, then excitedly took his hand and started dragging him out the door. "Come with! Let's see your robot!" He followed her passively, content to be dragged to any destination so long as it kept him distracted from the bitter tide of emotions that Charlotte had brought forth.

* * *

As they walked through the halls, Derek noted a marked change in the young girl. As the pair moved through the more populated areas of the tower, the smile on her face vanished. She no longer led him, instead keeping close to his side. Whenever someone brushed against her, she cringed as if burned. Derek actually heard her yelp when someone called his name from behind them. It was only when they were alone in Mato's personal garage that her exuberance returned. Derek wondered how she survived in the halls alone, even how she slept at night.

The two of them spent hours tinkering with the sentry bot, and by the end of it they were both covered in grease and laughing hysterically as Mato rolled around with no head. "Feeling better?" she asked again. Derek thought about it and realized that he did.

"Yeah, thanks. I really appreciate it." Slave beamed at him. "I need to go though," he said apologetically. Instantly the girl's expression fell. "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed quickly. "But an important message came today and I need to go over it." Mato whirred by, knocking over a pile of spare parts. "Could you clean this up?" he asked tentatively, pointing to both the robot and the mess they had created. Slave nodded and immediately got to work. After thanking her one last time, Derek turned and left the garage. It was time for a shower.

* * *

The ruler of the Raw Border lay back in his chair as he studied the communiqué from The Pitt. It had arrived while he had been occupied earlier in the day. But now, with the moon out and the tower dormant, he had the time to peruse it. The note was hand-written by Ashur himself. It read:

_ To whomever is currently in charge of keeping the Raw Border secured: The first stage of the plan is in effect. As was predicted, Old Balto is no longer in radio contact. My commanders think the Talons there have been decimated. As per your recommendations, I haven't told them the whole story. They only know to be ready when the threat comes. I have good men along the Susquehanna River, because I think they'll keep using their boats until they have to go overland. We'll know well in advance where they go first. My men are ready, and we have surprise on our side. They won't be expecting the trogs._

_PS: The medical equipment and staff we salvaged from Old Balto are like another Marie. Sandra has never been more hopeful that the cure we desperately need is near. Don't worry about the people of Balto: they're being treated with the utmost courtesy. Thank you for the suggestion that we utilize their expertise. _

Derek reread the note, then crumpled it in his hand and stuffed it into his shotgun. He opened one of the windows nearby, then pointed the weapon out the door and fired. "Perfect paper shredder," he praised himself as the scraps of paper drifted away on the night air. Derek reloaded his gun, and then set it back on his desk. He had preparations to make.

* * *

First, he made the trip to the basement where the yao-guai, Panama, was being kept. She hadn't given Derek any reason not to trust her, but he wasn't about to take chances with a wild animal. She was to stay away from the others living in the tower. But the bear was still housed, fed regularly, and given shelter from the nasty Sin'Nati winters. Derek thought she had no room to complain. "Bear!" he called. The answering growl told him Panama was awake. "Okay! You can sleep now!" A hulking shadow further off in the poorly-lit basement shifted slightly, then settled.

Derek stepped over several pieces of junk, navigating the cluttered basement floor. He reached the far end, near where Panama was still trying to sleep, and felt along the wall for the switch he was looking for. He flicked it when he discovered it, and a square of light appeared and grew bigger as a garage door slid opened. By chance, the light fell directly on where the yao-guai was resting. She lifted her head to shoot Derek what he thought was a withering glare, before reluctantly trumping off into a darker, quieter corner of the basement.

Derek turned and looked into the lit room he had just exposed. Inside were several valuable pieces of pre-war technology. A vertibird, covered in dust, sat silently in one corner of the storage space. Next to it were several military vehicles: jeeps, trucks, and an armored troop carrier. What made all of these valuable, however, wasn't the fact that they had been preserved beneath the ruins of Sin'Nati. Instead, their worth was in their usefulness: all of these vehicles were in perfect, well-maintained working order.

"Planning on leaving us?" an impish voice inquired from behind him, in the darkness.

"No, but I'm willing to give you the vertibird if you swear to find someone else to annoy," Derek responded. He was pleased by how confident he sounded.

Olivia stepped forward, a pout on her features. If nothing else, she was consistent. "That was mean."

Derek shrugged. "I don't care. No one's accused me of being a nice guy."

Olivia sighed, stepping in front of him and crossing her arms. "I'm mad at you," she informed him in a sullen tone.

"Good for you," Derek responded, wondering why he was tolerating this at all.

"Why are you acting like a spoiled brat?" she demanded, glaring at him.

Derek squeezed his crowbar tightly, resisting the urge to beat her with it. "I could ask you the same thing," he retorted. She looked taken aback by that, so he went on while she was quiet. "I thought we were friends! You told me we were friends! You used the words "forever," and "love!" You even said we could be more than that! And you know what? I believed you! Too bad every other time I see you, you're chasing after a random hired gun!"

Olivia's glare faltered, and she took a step towards him. "Derek…" she began.

Derek pushed her back firmly. "Don't," he warned her. "Don't pretend anymore. You're my friend. But that's all you'll ever be. Just say so and be done with it."

Olivia sighed again, and turned away from him. "I'm willing to give us a chance…" she insisted, her head down.

"You're not worth the pain and effort," he informed her bluntly.

Olivia whirled to face him, but one look at his face forced her angry retort back down her throat. Derek was calm, certain of what he was doing. There was no doubt in his mind that letting her go was the right thing to do. She understood this, and gave up the fight. Instead, she stepped forward and embraced him tightly, burying her face in his chest. He hugged her back, happy that she wasn't furious or depressed.

"So," she said after letting go of him and turning to face the fleet of vehicles once again. "What _are_ we doing with these?"

"We're going on a diplomatic mission," Derek informed her, moving to stand beside her. "The Island needs to be dealt with."

* * *

**As always, I am begging you to review! **


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello my faithful readers! I know it has been a long time since I've updated, and I'm so very, very sorry for making you wait. Things were happening, life was hectic, and as much as OI want you all to enjoy my stories, I needed to cut them out for awhile in order to get a handle on things. But that's all behind me now! I'm looking forward to a long, story-filled summer, and I can't tell you how excited I am to post this latest chapter! Because Augustinianfrog has been gracious enough to allow me to use characters from his stories "Dusters" and "Half-Moon", and this chapter is their introduction! I don't know how many of you know of Augustinianfrog, but his characters are awesome, and his stories are as well! I highly recommend them. For now, just be aware that Francis, Julia and her three kids, Alexandra, Adam Anders, James Vanderbraun, Carl Thoompson, and Slightly-Psycho Sven, as well as other characters who are yet to be named belong entirely to Augustinianfrog and I am merely borrowing them. I hope you all enjoy what he and I have worked hard to put together, and I hope it was worth the wait. As always, I beg everyone to read and review, and I give a special shoutout to my awesome Beta Amymimi. **

**And now, without further delay, I present everyone the next installment of Sin'Nati.**

* * *

"Regulator Justice, calling headquarters. Regulator Justice, calling headquarters."

For a moment there was only static, and then a wizened voice came over the radio asking, "What is every man guilty of?"

Justice answered the question without hesitation: "All the good they haven't done."

Another moment of static, while Justice sweated over whether he had remembered the right answer, and then the same voice said "this is Francis Garret, regional commander of the Regulators. What can I do for you, Justice?"

Justice sighed in momentary hesitation, then launched into an explanation. "Well, sir, first let me say what an honor it is to be asking for your help. I'm not sure how much the stories have been embellished by the time they get to Sin'Nati, but-"

The voice on the other end of the radio lifted a few octaves in surprise. "You're in Sin'Nati? How the hell is the radio even reaching New York?"

Justice cleared his throat, then explained. "One of the main settlements here, known as Raw Border, has a fully-functioning radio tower. I've been given permission to use it to contact my superiors."

"I thought Sin'Nati was neutral in the Regulator-Talon conflict," Francis replied. "How did you get to use their radio tower?" So Justice had to explain how the Talons had tried to take over the Raw Border, and in response its leader, and the leader of Passtime, had agreed to support the goals of the Regulators in the region, especially where they involved dead Talons. "Sounds like you've got everything settled then," Francis surmised. "Why are you calling me?"

"Actually, things are really heating up here," Justice explained. "It's not just the Talons. There are raiders all around us, and it feels like the leader of Raw Border is preparing for a war. And in the middle of all this, he's suddenly moving west; to the Island"

"I don't follow," Francis admitted.

"The Island is old Indianapolis, Indiana's state capital. It's the heart of raider territory. I think there are at least three factions vying for power there, based on word of mouth. If that's true, then he's charging straight into a warzone with a handful of men."

"Seems suicidal if you ask me," Francis said. "Why does it matter though?"

"Because the men he's taking with him aren't scared. They're not even that worried. To them it's just like another job, though they won't tell me what's going to happen. Which means something like this has happened before."

Francis was silent on his end of the radio for a moment, probably mulling over what he had been told. Finally, he asked, "And what do you need from me?"

Justice hesitated. This was where things got a little complicated. "Well, sir, I wanted to request reinforcements. There are five Regulators this side of the Ohio, including myself. I'm the only one going to the Island, because I want the rest of them to keep our presence strong in my absence. Already people are beginning to trust us, and I don't want to ruin that by suddenly uprooting everyone and moving west, possibly to our deaths. But neither do I want to completely abandon Raw Border's effort. How would that look, if the Regulators run from a mission just because it seems dangerous?"

"I see your point. Why do you only have four men?" Francis asked.

"We felt that a smaller group could slip past the Pitt unnoticed, and that we'd replenish ourselves with local recruits. Unfortunately, the Talons arrived in force and we were forced to accept Raw Border's peace terms or be wiped out."

"I understand. You did what you had to. And it turned out fine in the end, all things considered. But you're right; for now, you need reinforcements," Francis agreed. "Trouble is, I don't have many to spare. About a year ago we fought a massive battle with some bastards named Lab 18. We lost a lot of good men, and only recently have we been able to replenish our numbers. And most of our recruits are greenhorns who can barely aim a gun, let alone perform vital tasks in the field. I'd be doing more harm than good by sending them."

Justice's heart sank for a moment, but Francis continued. "But the good news is that you'll be asking whoever I do send to deal with grim, perhaps suicidal, odds. And I have four louts who seem to have made that their specialty. How soon do you need them?"

"We're leaving in a week," Justice replied, trying to keep the relief from his voice. Another squad was more than he had been hoping for. And if Francis was telling the truth, then the people he was sending were very experienced. Just what he needed.

"A week?" Francis demanded. "Can't be done! There's no way for them to get to Ohio in a week."

"Yes there is," Justice insisted. "Just leave that to us."

* * *

A large crowd of people had gathered outside the Vault that served as New York's Regulator base. Derek sighed to himself as he brought the vertibird in for a landing. The ancient gears protested as the rotors became vertical, but otherwise the machine landed without a hitch. Olivia detached herself from the co-pilot's chair and stepped gracefully from the cockpit onto the barren ground below. Derek turned and nodded to Justice, who was strapped into one of the chairs in the cargo bay. "We're here. Let's go meet our new friends."

Derek dropped from the cockpit and breathed in the New York air. It tasted different from Sin'Nati. Cleaner, less pollution. He turned and made his way towards the crowd, who was silent at the moment. On his back was strapped his Boomstick, and he twirled his crowbar absently in his left hand. The crowd was armed to the teeth as well; Derek saw hand-to-hand weapons, as well as small arms, and even a few high-caliber weapons and explosives.

The leader of Raw Border stopped midway between the crowd and his vertibird. He could taste their anticipation, the suspense they felt as they waited for him to make the first move. Derek sighed and planted the sharp end of his crowbar in the ground and rested his hands on the top. He hated being the center of attention.

"I was informed by this man," he began, his voice carrying easily to his entire audience as he gestured to Justice, "that we were coming for four people. I'm hoping that's still the case, because there's not enough room in the vertibird for all of you. Now, if the four people we're here for would kindly step forward, we can begin introductions and leave, before our window of opportunity closes."

After a bit of commotion within the crowd, five people stepped forward and strode toward Derek. At the head of the group was an old man with a plasma rifle strapped to his back. "The name's Francis," he said as a greeting. "I'm the commanding officer of the Regulators in the northeast regions, which includes Ohio. I guess I should thank Sin'Nati for finally deciding to support the Regulators."

Derek shrugged. "It wasn't really our decision. The Talon Company decided it when they sent assassins and armies into the city. I took care of the assassin, and then killed the men who sent him."

Francis' eyes widened in surprise. "You killed a Talon assassin?" Behind him, one of the men in the group whistled, impressed.

Derek shook his head. "I just beat him senseless then gave him to someone else to be interrogated. I think he's still alive."

Francis cleared his throat and pressed on. "Yes, well, anyways, I'm glad they're accepting our help now. These are the men going with you," he explained, motioning for them to step forward. "This is Adam Anders, close-quarters combat expert, infiltration specialist, and the squad leader," he said, indicating the man who had whistled. Adam was toting at least seven blades, including a sword on his hip, as well as a submachine pistol. He stood with the confidence of a trained killer, his weight on the balls of his feet and his eyes riveted on Derek, searching for his strengths and weaknesses.

"This is James Vanderbraun, the squad marksman and medic," Francis continued, moving to the man next to Adam. James carried a patchwork rifle on his back and a belt of metal spikes across his chest. On his hip was a satchel that Derek guessed was filled with medical supplies. His eyes were everywhere at once, trying to spot threats before they appeared.

"Next is Carl Thompson, the squad heavy weapons specialist." Francis indicated a black man who stood at just below seven feet tall. On his back rested a Gatling laser and its attendant energy pack, and in his right hand he grasped a super sledge. Carl stood as if he wasn't carrying anything, which, judging by the way he was built, didn't surprise Derek at all. His eyes were pointed in Derek's general direction, but they weren't very focused. Derek guessed the man-mountain was at least partially blind, but he doubted that was much of a hindrance if he was one of the Regulators' best.

"And this," Francis announced as he stepped to the last man in the line, "is Sven."

Derek glanced at the old man for a moment. "Just Sven?"

Francis cleared his throat before answering, "We call him 'Slightly-Psycho Sven. He's the explosives expert." Sven didn't bother to speak for himself, and frankly, there wasn't any need for it. The man was a veritable walking bomb, with explosives strapped to various parts of his body, some sort of hybrid-launcher on his back, and the equipment for an incinerator at his feet. But what really drew Derek's attention was his smile. It wasn't one of friendly greeting, or even a sneer of derision. Instead, it had that broken aspect Derek associated with severe shock or trauma. Slightly-Psycho indeed, he thought to himself. Watching Sven work would be interesting, to say the least.

Francis stepped aside to allow Derek a chance to speak with the four men. Behind them, the crowd watched in eager anticipation. Once again, Derek was the center of attention. The thought annoyed him. "Gentlemen," he began, deciding to attempt a diplomatic approach for a change. "Before everything else, you have my sincere thanks for what you are doing. The knowledge that the noble, resourceful, and above all else the powerful Regulators stand with the people of Sin'Nati helps put my worries for tomorrow to rest. I hope that together we can accomplish what apart we thought impossible. Together," Derek repeated, emphasizing the point by jabbing his crowbar into the air, "we can bring peace, stability, and hope to the wastes."

The people in the crowd murmured excitedly to one another. The stranger spoke very well. "But," Derek continued, his tone hardening considerably, "there must be rules." He tossed his crowbar into the air and caught it by the sharpened tip, then pointed the rounded end towards Justice. "Justice, the leader of the Regulators already in Sin'Nati, tells me you respect the wishes of the leader in any settlement you want peace with. Say hello, Justice."

Surprised at suddenly being in the spotlight, all the black-haired Regulator could manage was a wave of his hand. Derek replaced his crowbar on the ground and placed both hands atop it once more, leaning forward a little to look each of the four Regulators in the eye as he spoke. But his words carried for all to hear. "Raw Border is a place of strength. The strong survive, the stronger thrive, and only the strongest can lead. You are all strong. You will do well for yourselves in Sin'Nati. But you aren't the strongest." Here Derek paused, letting his words sink in.

"Who is?" Someone in the back of the crowd asked. The question rolled through the gathered people like a tidal wave, and soon everyone was demanding to know who the leader of the Raw Border was. Francis and Carl were impassive, not betraying any of their thoughts. Adam was trying to do the same, but Derek could see the man was interested by the way he was staring at him. James wasn't bothering to try and hide his curiosity. Sven just looked bored. Derek looked over to Justice, who shook his head in response. He hadn't told anyone who Derek really was. Groaning inwardly, he closed his eyes and composed his features.

"I am the leader of the Raw Border!" Derek shouted above the noise. Immediately the crowd went silent, everyone abandoning even a pretense of disinterest to focus on his words. "I've come myself to tell my guests what is expected of them; what _I_ expect of them. As much as I need your help, **I** **will not risk instability**."

A short bark of laughter stopped Derek from continuing. Adam was trying to contain his amusement. "Sorry," he managed between chuckles. "Just, I can't believe you're expecting us to swallow this. You? A kid, the leader of a whole settlement? 'Only the strongest can lead,'" he mocked Derek's voice before falling into another fit of laughter. "Is the city filled with little girls and boys?"

Olivia giggled and patted Derek's shoulder. "Looks like you've got competition for 'thick-skulled leader'."

Derek heaved a frustrated sigh, then drew his shotgun and pointed it at Adam. Angry and worried shouts came from the crowd behind him. Weapons were drawn and aimed, and a dark-haired woman clad in simple leather armor moved closer to the front of the crowd. Olivia and Justice remained passive, as did Francis, who was watching Derek with interest now. He motioned for Sven, James, and Carl to put their weapons down as well, and they did so reluctantly. Adam was watching Derek intently now, a knife in each hand.

"First lesson," Derek said, looking to each of the four Regulators in front of him before returning his gaze to Adam. "Don't you _dare_ call anyone weak in my home. Because if you do, they will try their very hardest to kill you." He holstered his gun and gripped his crowbar in his left hand. "But since we're a long way from home now, I'll settle for an ass-kicking." Derek motioned to Adam, "come on, let's see what those toy knives of yours can do."

Several guns remained trained on Derek even after his shotgun was put away. More than one pair of eyebrows when up in surprise when he asked Adam to fight him. He took that to mean Adam was a pretty good fighter. All the better, Derek thought. Adam himself was hesitating, not sure what to do. "Get on with it!" Olivia shouted at him. "Or were you only pretending to compensate for how small your dick is?" Derek laughed at the crude joke, hoping it would make him angry enough to fight.

Adam suddenly vanished. "Stealth-boy," Derek told Olivia. "Step back, please." As she did so, Derek simply stood passively and waited. He knew it was useless to try and spot a stealth-boy user without smoke or dust in the air, and he guessed that Adam would be on him before he could gather dirt from the ground to throw everywhere. He also wanted to avoid swinging his crowbar wildly like a madman. So that left waiting.

He didn't have to wait long. A blade pressed against his neck, and a voice whispered in his left ear. "What was that about toy knives, boy?" Adam asked. Derek could imagine the smirk on his face. He could also imagine it vanishing as he turned to the invisible man and grinned, even as the knife cut into his flesh.

"Thanks for letting me know where you are," he taunted. Derek drove his elbow back, hitting Adam's gut and knocking the wind out of him. He heard Adam gasp for air as he swept his legs out, knocking the still-invisible man off his feet. Adam's grip on his neck, already weakened, broke completely as he fell to the ground. Derek spun around and saw the dust fly up from the impact. He jabbed with the blunt end of his crowbar in the general direction of the man's throat and was rewarded with a choking sound. Then he placed a foot on where he thought Adam's chest would be. "Second lesson: Don't fuck with the man in charge. Now turn of your stealth-boy," he ordered calmly.

Still invisible, Adam spat on Derek from the ground. Derek sighed and reached for his shotgun. "Adam," Francis said in warning. Derek's hand paused for a second, and Adam reappeared beneath him.

Derek didn't remove his foot from Adam's chest, or his crowbar from his throat, but he did take his hand away from his shotgun. He turned to look at the crowd of people still watching his every move. Some still had weapons pointed at him. They looked angry. Some were in awe. Others looked to be in shock, or disbelief. "I apologize to everyone here," he said, looking everyone he could in the eye, one after the other. "I did not wish for this to happen." He turned to Francis and nodded to him. "Thank you for preventing meaningless death."

Francis shrugged. "It's why I'm here. I try to make sure we only kill the bad people."

Derek smiled at him and turned back to Adam, who was glaring at him from the ground. His words carried to everyone, but he was focused on Adam the whole time. "I still want us to work together. But you had to understand what that means, what you're getting into. My world is one of hideous strength. You will be weighed, you will be measured, and if found wanting, you will be crushed. You are strong. I know that. But others will know it too. They will try to use it to their advantage against me, against Sin'Nati, against everything but their own selfish gain."

"This is my wish: you will not interfere. You are your own. I cannot command you. But neither can I allow you to undermine my authority. If that happens, I will do my best to kill you where you stand. I am truly sorry, because I don't want to kill you. But there is so much at stake, and as I said before, I will not risk instability. If that is what it comes to, rest assured that I won't hesitate to do what is necessary."

Derek stepped off of Adam and removed his crowbar. He smiled down at the man and reached out to help him up. "But that's all the dreary stuff," he said in a more cheerful tone. "To be perfectly honest, I'm excited to be working with you." Adam swatted the hand away and stood on his own, then walked stiffly back to his squad. James leaned over and asked him if he needed a stimpack. Adam shook his head and marched over to Francis. The two of them started a heated conversation.

Derek stepped around them and moved to stand with James. He motioned for Carl and Sven to join them. James watched him warily. Carl stood impassive, but within arms' reach of Derek's throat if it came to that. Sven was grinning like a child on his birthday. "Let me put it this way for you three," Derek said. He didn't much care who heard him at this point. "Say you've managed to find crop, assuming you all know what that is, that can grow in the radioactive dirt at our feet. You spend years, perhaps your whole life, breeding it and replenishing your seed stores, clearing a plot of land, killing possible vermin and pests, digging irrigation ditches, and so on."

"Finally, you're ready to plant the seeds and grow your crop. But you find that you simply can't look after the entire field yourself. But, miraculously, you find willing people to help you make your dream of wasteland crops a reality. But after all the time you've spent on this project, all the frustration and blood and tears you've poured into it, wouldn't it make you just a little uncomfortable to accept help from perfect strangers? What if they add too much water? What if they fall asleep on watch and chimera make off with a whole section? What if they cause a fire? What if, what if what if?" Derek paused and rubbed his fingers on the bridge of his nose. He hoped he wasn't wasting his time.

"My crop is already growing. And I really, really, _really_ need some help making sure it yields a profit. But, and I'm repeating this, so it must be important, there is more at stake than I can say now." Derek looked past the three men into the crowd, still watching the whole scene, and lowered his voice. "If any of you have loved ones over there, I'd be worried for them." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Francis and Adam had stopped arguing to listen to him. "You four are exactly what I need: you're good at what you do, your goals are noble, and you can act independently of anyone's orders. But if you're going to question me, do it _quietly_ from now on, or I'll have to kill you, as much as I don't want to."

Derek waited, watching the three men before him, hoping they would agree to help. Sven spoke first. "Is there much call for the exploding of… well, anything, where you live?"

Derek nodded. "There's always a building or two full of raiders that needs to be turned into a parking lot."

Sven's grin widened and he rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. "Count me in! Things here have been too quiet nowadays."

"There's a river near Sin'Nati, isn't there?" Carl asked.

Derek nodded. "The Ohio. It separates us from old Covington, on the Kentucky side. It goes east to the Pitt, and west to Louisville and Lexington. It's how we get most of our trade."

"Any mirelurks?" Carl asked, a small, nostalgic smile growing on his face.

Derek grinned at him and thumped his chest-plate. "The myrelurks, and that's 'myre' with a 'y', that grow in the Ohio are huge, and their shells are stronger than steel. We sell it as armor. And the meat, as well as tasty, is very good for you. If it's cooked right, some people will swear that it gets rid of the rads."

Carl's smile widened into a childlike grin that mirrored Sven's. "If nothing else, I'll go with you to see these miraculous creatures of yours."

"You said there's always buildings of raiders," Adam said as he moved to stand next to James. "Do we get rewards for clearing them out?"

Derek shrugged. "Well there's the bounties, and besides that-"

"Bounties?" Adam asked. "What bounties?"

"Every morning on the radio I give out job requests and their attendant payment, and I give the name and location of a troublesome band of raiders and put a price on their heads. Generally it's about a thousand caps for clearing them all out." Derek gestured to Justice. "Your Regulator friends have made quite the living, and they haven't even been sending out their fingers yet."

Adam crossed his arms and ground his teeth, grumbling to himself as he considered the information. Behind him, the dark-haired woman Derek had seen earlier separated herself from the crowd and jogged over to their little group. "I'm Alexandra, Adam's unspoiled new wife that he's lucky to have," she explained to the young man. "I'll make this easier for both of you." She gripped Adam's shoulders and shook him. "Adam Anders, if you don't come home with at least three-thousand caps, you're sleeping outside the Vault for a year. Understand?"

Adam sighed and rubbed his temples. "Yes, I understand."

Alexandra spun him towards Derek and pushed his hand forward. "Now make up with your generous new benefactor." Scattered laughter could be heard from the crowd behind them, and Carl and Sven were grinning. James was still deep in thought.

Before Adam could take his hand away, Derek grasped it and shook firmly, smiling at him sincerely. "Good to have you on board." He glanced at Alexandra. "And I'll be sure to consider the expenses for a woman of Alexandra's moral fiber when I'm paying you," he said like she wasn't standing right next to them. Adam grunted his agreement and took his hand back from them.

James cleared his throat. "I'd like to know something," he said. Derek turned to him and waited expectantly. "You talk a lot about risk," he went on, "about how much is at stake." Derek nodded in agreement, so James continued. "So what's our goal?" His voice quieted. "If we're risking everything, what are we gaining? What exactly are we fighting for?"

"I don't suppose you've read the book _The Grapes of Wrath_, have you?" Derek's voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. And everyone shook their heads, except for Francis, who stood a little straighter and nodded. Derek raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged in return. What else was he supposed to do with a Vault full of books? Derek sighed, then explained. "The gist of the book is: you reap what you sow, or you take from the world what you put into it. There's a line, towards the end, that sums up what I'm fighting quite nicely. 'There is a crime here that cannot be discounted. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolize. There is a failure here that undoes all our success.' My goal is to stop this failure. I'm fighting to keep what we've gained so far, to protect what little humanity has left."

"But if you're looking for something grander, then you could say I'm fighting for the future. Like the book, I'm doing my best to put good into this world, or at least keep the evil from spreading further. I'm fighting wars and building guns and shells, so that one day my sons and daughters can fight sicknesses and build roads and houses." Derek shrugged at James. "I won't say that winning will bring us anything other than our own safety, but we have to fight nonetheless. I'm sorry if that's not what you're looking for."

James sighed and shook his head. "At least you're honest." He clapped Derek on the shoulder. "After all your fancy monologues, damn it if you haven't won me over." He grinned and hitched his rifle into a more comfortable spot on his back. "Just be sure you can walk your talk," he warned. "Anyone can beat Adam, but you're making it sound like we're walking straight into hell."

"All nine levels!" Derek responded cheerfully, grasping James' arm and towing him toward the vertibird. The metallic, hard surface he found beneath his fingers confused him, but he didn't slow down or ask about it. James didn't mention it either. "Now that everyone is sure they're going," Derek said to change the subject as Sven, Carl, Adam, Olivia, and Justice fell in step beside them, "we need to move fast. We only have so long before-"

"James!" a female voice called from behind them.

"And it always has to be _something_," Derek complained, spinning the man and himself around and standing with his arms crossed, his crowbar stuck in the ground beside him.

A woman ran towards them, carrying two small children as a third toddled along behind her. Her face was pocked and scarred, and she was wearing robes similar to the Scribes in the Brotherhood wore, beneath her green Regulator duster. "I'm James' wife, Julia," she explained before turning to James. "Before everyone is hauled off to god knows where, I just wanted to tell you to be careful," she told him.

"Again," he responded, a loving smile on his face.

"Well, yes, again," she stuttered, her face reddening. "I won't be there to watch you, and who will take care of you if you get yourself hurt?"

"Me," Justice answered as he raised his hand from behind James. "I'm a fair hand at medicine. Probably not as good as either of you, if you've read the books in that Vault, but I'll do my best to take care of your husband, ma'am."

Julia smiled at him and dipped her head in gratitude. "Thank you, Regulator Justice. I'm glad to know my husband is in capable hands." She turned once again to James. "I-" and that was all she managed before he swept her into his arms and kissed her.

Derek watched for a moment, then poked James impatiently with his crowbar. "Excuse me, I hate to break up the happy couple, but we _really_ need to go." Both James and Julia broke off, each breathless and looking at one another with longing. They missed each other already.

"You're heartless," Olivia accused him. "Just plain cold down to your core."

"Sure am," Derek agreed. "I'm very sorry you two, but we need to get moving. Now." James nodded, kissed Julia one last time, then turned and continued toward the vertibird with the rest of the group.

"One last thing." James muttered as they went, too softly for Derek to hear.

"What's that?" Justice asked, just as softly as he walked beside his fellow Regulator.

"As you just saw, I have a wife and three kids. I've gone into hell. I know what war looks like. Adam may be our leader, but I've always been the squad's analyst. We can do difficult, but we will not do suicidal, especially now that Adam and I have people we need to return to. Understand?"

James did not even bother to get a response. Justice wondered if he would turn out to be more difficult to work with than Adam.

As they walked, Adam leaned over to Sven and murmured, "Did you see me cut him? Before he knocked me down? I swear my knife cut into his neck, at least a little." Looking at the young man now, Derek's neck didn't have any visible wounds on it.

Sven shrugged. "I didn't see much of anything. I would've said he was as crazy as me for attacking thin air, except you appeared beneath him."

Adam stared at Derek's neck, searching for a cut that wasn't there, but he knew should be. "I cut him," he mumbled to himself. "I know I did."

Julia, her three children, Alexandra, and Francis stood at the front of the crowd, which was still divided somewhere between bowing at Derek's feet and shooting him where he stood. Carl, Adam, James, and Sven turned to wave at everyone before they climbed onto the vertibird. A cheer rose from the crowd, and almost instantly everyone was clapping and cheering and throwing their hats in the air at the four Regulators. They grinned at one another, stunned for a moment by the praise, before Derek threatened to beat them senseless with his crowbar if they didn't stop dawdling.

At last, everyone was strapped into the vertibird. Olivia was in the cockpit with Derek, while the Regulators were strapped down in the back. "Have you flown before?" Derek yelled over the roar of the rotors.

All four Regulators nodded. "We flew once during an invasion of Liberty Island," Adam explained. "We had to hold our lunches down while the pilot avoided enemy fire. It was crazy!"

"Oh, so you know what it's like to fly through enemy fire! Good to know!" Derek said, feeling relieved as he guided the vertibird into the air. Outside, the crowd continued to cheer and wave at their departing heroes.

"What do you mean?" Adam demanded, worry crossing his features. Apparently he hadn't enjoyed his last experience on a vertibird.

"Just that I'm glad to know everyone is experienced with evasion maneuvers!" Derek explained. "You'll need it on the way home!"

* * *

**As always, I remind everyone to give me their thoughts in the form of a review. Please. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey guys. It's been awhile. I've been preparing for college, and things just keep coming up. But I've been slowly whittling away at this, and here is the result! I hope it was worth the wait. As always, I ask you to review my work, because otherwise I can't improve. **

* * *

"Holy shit! You're going to get us killed!"

"Jesus Christ do you need to tilt this much?"

"Stop complaining or get the hell off my vertibird!" Derek shouted to his ungrateful passengers. On the ground, the raider gangs of northern Pennsylvania were doing their best to blow the aircraft out of the sky. "Where the hell did they find SAMs?" he asked Olivia, who was too busy watching the radar and telling him where the missiles were coming from to answer.

Adam, James, and Carl were holding onto the safety bars next to their seats for dear life. None of them remembered flying being this bad. Justice was a bit calmer than his fellow Regulators, but his knuckles were still white from gripping the metal so hard. Sven was having the time of his life. He was listening for more explosions from the missiles, cackling madly with each new burst of noise.

"Ashur, Ashur, this is Sparrow, we're nearing the corridor. Confirming trajectory along the Allegheny, coming south with the ground hot," Derek yelled into his radio over the noise of the explosions and the rattling vertibird. James and Adam locked eyes when they heard the name: Ashur, the leader of the Pitt, and the man whose finger was worth a fortune. Why was Derek calling him at all?

The voice that answered the radio carried a sense of confidence, even over the crackling speakers. "Your route is set, but you're cutting it a little close. I almost pulled my men out."

Derek breathed a sigh of relief. "There was some trouble up in New York, and we didn't get off the ground as fast as we should have. Thanks for waiting, we'll be above you momentarily." The vertibird's evasive maneuvers subsided a few minutes later as they left the hostile skies behind. Derek flipped a switch, putting the aircraft in automatic pilot for the moment. He unbuckled himself and slipped through the entryway into the back, where everyone else was sitting. "Anticipating unfriendly locals, I asked for a route to be secured for us over Pennsylvania. We're past the worst of it now, so you can all relax."

"And you trust the Pitt not to shoot you down more than the rest of the raiders around here?" Adam bluntly demanded.

Derek sighed. "I don't suppose you've ever met Ashur, have you?" He looked at the Regulators, who all shook their heads. "No? Didn't think so. Well then, I'll fill in some details for you. First, he's an ex-Brotherhood of Steel Paladin." James' jaw just about dropped, and Adam's eyes widened. Carl looked like he was about to protest, but Derek held up his hand. "He was, in fact, part of the original force that took down the Pitt before moving into Washington. You know that as the Scourge. But I'm sure you've all heard that story." The Regulators nodded that they had.

"Well, what you don't know is that he was left behind. Abandoned, as it were, due to an exploding building. Some locals dug him out, and decided to worship him as a local god." Derek continued the story, explaining how Ashur had decided to help the locals get the Pitt "producing," as he called it, once again. He also explained the sickness that ravaged the whole city, and how it prevented any the inhabitants from having any children. "That's why he needs his workers. The Pitt can't produce its own, so he gets them from wherever he can. Yes, even by buying them from slavers."

Finally, Derek told the Regulators about how Ashur's own daughter, Marie, was a miracle: a baby completely immune to radiation and the Trogladyte sickness. He told them how, once Ashur used her to find a cure, he planned to free all of his workers and allow the city to run as it should: no forced servitude.

The vertibird shook slightly as the Regulators processed what he was saying. "Ashur isn't a bad man," Derek insisted. "Yes, there are bad people who work for him. I've met some. I've killed a few. Some even tried to muscle in on Sin'Nati; they were behind the Talon attempt at a coup. But Ashur does his best to keep them all in line. He punishes the men who are too abusive to the workers. He doesn't allow rape. And he truly wants to see humanity prosper once again. If your boss knew him as a person, instead of the monster everyone else thinks he is, he probably wouldn't accept his finger."

"But he's sent hit-squads out for us!" Adam protested. "He's tried to have us killed!"

"Ashur has? Or the Pitt?" Derek asked him. "Because there are a lot of people in the Pitt, and a lot of them want you dead. Ashur can't control what his lieutenants do with their money. If they want to hire hit-squads to kill, from what I'm told, the biggest threat to their profit, he can't exactly say no. How would it look if he suddenly told his men _not_ to retaliate? It's like I told you about Raw Border: if he looks weak, he's out of the picture. Most likely in a very brutal fashion."

The vertibird was silent for a long time. Finally, James coughed for attention and asked, "How do you know all of this?"

Derek sighed and continued to explain private information to perfect strangers. He really hoped none of this would come back to bite him later. "For what's coming, I needed allies. I knew the Pitt had resources, as well as a powerful army. I used to think he was evil too. I thought long and hard about asking for his help, but in the end pragmatism won out. With my best men, I traveled to the Pitt and more-or-less demanded an audience. Things went about as well as they did with you four. Imagine my surprise when I found out that a decent human being was in charge of the Pitt, not some raider scum. He… showed me some holotapes that explained how he had come to be in charge." Derek looked James in the eyes and said, "He made them for his daughter. To explain to her why he had to do these things, in case he died before he could tell her himself."

James nodded and lowered his eyes. Carl shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with thinking of Ashur as anything more than a monster. But if Derek was telling the truth, then it seemed Lord Ashur was just a man forced to make difficult choices, as well as someone who was desperate to be a good father to his child. Carl could sympathize with that, at least. But to enslave people? He had a hard time seeing how _anyone_ who cared for another person could rationalize that.

The vertibird was silent for a long time. Derek stood in the cargo bay, watching his passengers as they were absorbed in their own thoughts. He occasionally looked back to check the instruments, which earned him a swat from Olivia, who insisted that she was perfectly capable of flying the aircraft.

"Does this thing have a big fuel tank?" Sven asked out of the blue.

Derek shook his head. "The fuel sources around Sin'Nati have been dry for centuries. All our vehicles had to be refitted with rechargeable fission batteries."

Sven whistled. "That's an even bigger explosion than I thought."

"You're not going to be setting off our power sources, unless you want the entire city reduced to a crater."

"Don't tempt me," Sven said, giggling like a madman.

Derek was about to respond when Ashur's voice came over the radio again. "Sparrow, this is Ashur, do you copy?"

Adam's eyes hardened in disdain as Derek turned and picked up the mike. "I copy Ashur, loud and clear."

"I'd like to meet out precious cargo," Ashur said bluntly. Adam's hand drifted subconsciously to one of the knives in his belt. James' covered hand clenched into a fist so tight the leather glove creaked in protest. Carl shifted into a straighter position in his chair, turning his head as he did so to make sure his Supersledge was within easy reach. Sven didn't look like he was paying much attention to anything besides the motor, which he now knew was brimming with nuclear energy.

Derek watched all this as he responded. "I'm, ah, not sure that's a good idea Ashur. These men just learned they'll be working with you, and I'm not entirely sure they won't try to kill you if they meet you in person."

Behind him, James nudged Adam with his elbow to get his attention. Carl also leaned over to listen in, dragging Sven along as well. Derek could not hear what the four were talking about. Judging from their movements, Adam seemed to be the most agitated. James' hand moved in a series of motions as he moved from one point to another. Finally, as if breaking from a huddle, the four popped back into their original positions.

"If Ashur is as you say he is, then we might as well see for ourselves. We won't fire the first shot. Please note how I say my words." James warned.

"The reason we earned the name of 'Liberators' is because we shut down a massive slave organization known as 'The Wall' back in New York City. The four of us took on a whole army and, we managed to turn it around. Slaves tend to make a willing force multiplier if they've been treated badly too long and they smell freedom in the air," Adam said forebodingly, making sure the clip in his silence pistol was set.

"All that to say, if Ashur or any of his men have any funny business planned, they're in more trouble than they think." Carl explained.

"We're not going to start the fight, all right? We'll meet. Civilly. If he's straight with us, we'll be straight with him. If he's not, I'll nail he head to a wall," James said with a shrug, removing his scoped rail rifle from his back.

Derek met the eyes of each of the so-called "Liberators," then spoke into the mike again. "They've agreed to meet. But they're on edge, so keep the escort light. How about just you and Krenshaw? You trust me enough to know that if they attack you, I'll kill them all myself." Behind him, Adam's grip on his knife tightened even more. James met Derek's eyes with a hard glare, but said nothing. Carl's hands went from fists to open palms and back again as he worked to ease his tension.

A minute of silence stretched to near-eternity in the vertibird as everyone waited to hear what Ashur would say. Finally, the answer came. "Krenshaw won't like it Derek, and I can't say I disagree with him. But I'm willing to put my faith in you if it means that we can all work together."

Derek breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Olivia in the cockpit. "We're going to the Pitt. You know where." To Ashur, he said; "Tell Krenshaw I'll owe you both big for this. We're coming in from the north to the usual place. I assume you're nearby."

"We're there now. I'm sending my men back to the Pitt, so we'll be alone when you land."

Derek hung up the mic and turned to face the Liberators. "You heard what I told him," he said. "If you go back on your word, I'll kill you all."

Adam practically leaped to his feet, a knife in each hand. "Now listen you little shit-"

"Adam!" James shouted, grabbing one of his friend's arms with his covered hand. "We gave our word we wouldn't start anything. I intend to honor that, even if it means tying you down and leaving you in the vertibird with Sven."

"Not me!" Sven complained from Adam's other side. "I want to meet this guy!"

Carl sighed. "Sven…"

Adam tried to wrench his arm from James' grasp, and failed. From what Derek could see, the man may as well have been trying to remove himself from solid concrete. The Liberators glared at each other for a long moment, then Adam slipped the knife in his free hand back into its sheath and sat back down. "I'll honor our word too," he mumbled sullenly, not looking at anyone.

* * *

The rest of the trip was uneventful, and before long Olivia was guiding the vertibird to land in a clearing of rubble on the outskirts of The Pitt. To the south and west were ruins of old skyscrapers, as well the center of Lord Ashur's empire. Derek noticed two figures standing in the shadows at the other end of the clearing as he and the rest of the group filed out of the aircraft. Derek stood between Adam and Olivia, with James on Adam's other side. Carl and Sven were next to James, and Justice was on Olivia's right.

Ashur stepped out of the shadows, dressed in his customized power armor, complete with the bones and designs added by the tribals in the Pitt. His face, as always, was covered with grime and dirt from the city, but it did little to disguise the commanding aura he exuded. His face was lined with premature age, yet his features were set with a grim determination that Derek found extraordinary, considering the obstacles he faced.

"Greetings," he said to the group as he moved to shake hands with Derek. Behind him, his lieutenant, Krenshaw stopped a few paces back and watched everyone in the line with open suspicion in his eyes. Derek nodded and smiled genuinely to return the greeting, and shook Ashur's hand firmly. He could feel Adam's glare on him, but didn't react to it. If Ashur noticed, he didn't either.

Ashur moved to shake everyone's hand in turn. Krenshaw never let his gaze rest for too long, always watching for a sudden, treacherous movement. When Ashur reached Adam, both Derek and James tensed, but the man kept his word and didn't try to stab the leader of the Pitt. But he never kept his eyes off Ashur, nor did James for that matter. Carl's eyes, which Derek now knew for certain were bad, were fixed in Krenshaw's general direction. Sven had a manic grin on his face, and quietly giggled when Ashur shook his hand.

When the man was through greeting everyone, he stepped back from the group to stand with his lieutenant. "You have my thanks," he began, addressing everyone, though he only looked at the four men with the "L's" on their dusters. "I know this can't be easy for you, and I'll do my best to keep you from having to compromise on your morals from now on, but I wanted to thank you all personally for your help in the days to come."

"Do they know about Unity?" Krenshaw asked, speaking for the first time.

Ashur and Derek both blanched and cast their eyes about for unseen listeners. "Do not speak of that so frivolously!" Ashur ordered, turning to his lieutenant and glaring at him.

"I'm going to show them, Ashur," Derek promised, putting his hands up in a plea for calm and civility. "They'll know just what's at stake soon enough."

Lord Ashur continued to glare at Krenshaw. "As you wish. This all hinges on Sin'Nati, which seems to hinge on you." The man turned to face the group once more. "I won't keep you further. Go, with my confidence."

James coughed for attention. Derek tensed, his grip on his crowbar tightening. "When were you going to tell us about the sniper in the old hospital to our west?" he asked, as calm as if he had been asking the time of day. Derek hadn't seen the sniper. If Justice or Olivia had, they didn't seem to care. He could tell Adam, Sven, and Carl hadn't known, because all of them whirled to look at the hospital in question. James remained still, staring down the two men across from him, his rifle strapped to his back.

Ashur rounded on Krenshaw, looking angry enough to start beating the man. "I told you to move _everybody_!" he hissed in contained fury. "How do you expect them to trust us with a gun to their heads?"

"A little insurance never hurt anybody," Krenshaw retorted, looking away from his leader long enough to glare at James. "Besides, no one started shooting."

"I just might!" Derek declared, advancing on Krenshaw. He shoved the raider and pointed his crowbar at the surprised man's middle. "I will _not_ be treated like some hostile tribal come to beg for scraps! I am the leader of the Raw Border and will be shown respect, as will the men and women I command! If the Pitt doesn't want to trust its allies, it can face what is to come _on its own_!"

Krenshaw blanched. He was an exceptional marksman and had a firm grasp of post-war battle tactics. As far as raider bosses went, he wasn't that far behind Ashur in terms of sheer ability. But what put him a step above the rest was his pragmatism. Lesser men were likely to throw away resources and men to satisfy their own egos. But Krenshaw had that rare quality a true leader required: the gall to admit defeat. And right now he knew that he needed the Raw Border more than it needed him. It didn't matter that his motivation was just to save his own skin instead of the loftier ideals of Ashur or Derek. He needed both men to survive.

The raider looked down at his filth-encrusted feet and buried the frustration he felt about this whole situation. "The Pitt looks after its allies," he mumbled.

Ashur was glaring at his second-in-command, no-doubt fuming at being lied to. Derek nodded curtly, satisfied with Krenshaw's answer. He turned and started for the vertibird. "Let's go," he told everyone.

"This is getting ridiculous." Adam grumbled as they followed the others.

"Okay, maybe I shouldn't have mentioned the sniper. Either way, we've certainly met others far more evil than these two, so could we just at least shoot for being civil? I'm not saying let's be friends, let's just try to leave a good impression." James offered quietly.

"This IS getting rather stupid, all the bickering." Carl agreed.

"Its okay guys. If anything goes really wrong, at least my backpack would take out everything the size of a city square!" Sven gleefully exclaimed, cackling loudly.

Everyone, Ashur, Krenshaw, Derek, Olivia and Justice included, stared at him with wide eyes. "...He's not kidding either." Carl added.

Derek hurried back to his four guests and pushed Sven forward, urging him to the head of the group and onto the vertibird before anyone else. "There will be plenty of explosions soon enough," he promised, slamming the cargo bay door shut. "Use the other side!" he told everyone else when they looked at him, confused. He didn't think it needed to be explained that a layer of steel plating between the crazy man and Ashur was a good thing.

Nothing much of note occurred during the remainder of the return trip. Before too long, Derek was guiding the vertibird over the skyline of his home , checking to make sure he was over the hanger doors before bringing the aircraft down. The Liberators were pressed against the windows, looking out over the ruined city that was to be their home for the immediate future. All except Sven, who was resting his head against the bulkhead that housed the vertibird's engine and humming in tune with the fission generator.

The inside of the aircraft dimmed as the light of the setting sun was blocked by the walls of the underground hangar. "Mind the Yao-Guai," Derek warned them as the vertibird thumped to a landing and its motors sputtered and died. He opened his door and slid out of the cockpit, groaning and stretching his cramped muscles.

"Yao-Guai?" Carl asked as he pushed open the cargo doors and jumped out of the vehicle.

"Panama!" Olivia exclaimed when Derek flipped the switches for the hangar lights. The beast was curled up atop a miniature nest of blankets and shredded clothing. Surrounding it were the remains of myrelurks and chimera, caught and dragged back to what was undoubtedly the she-bear-mutant's new den. Olivia skipped over the smelly carcasses and wrapped her arms around her large pet's neck, seemingly oblivious to its spines and greasy skin.

Panama growled at the slowly approaching Adam, who had a knife in his hand. "You keep a Yao-Guai in your basement?" he hissed at Derek.

The other man shrugged. "Olivia likes her, and she seems to understand what we say. She's only killed the right people so far," he added to an incredulous Adam. "Panama, come over here and meet our new guests. Show them how civil you can be."

The Yao-Guai heaved herself to her feet and descended from her cloth nest, being careful not to disrupt the balance of cushioning it currently had. Olivia, who was cooing at her like a mother to her child, was half-dragged along, with her arms still around the bear-mutant's neck. Panama planted herself before Adam, then leaned forward to sniff him. She sneezed mightily in response to whatever she had discovered.

Derek tried his best not to laugh as Adam wiped phlegm off of his face and duster. "It means she likes you, I swear," he struggled to explain. Next she smelled Carl, who had been watching her with quiet amazement. She tried to lick him with her spiked tongue, but was held back by both Derek and Olivia. "It's the smell of mirelurk," Derek explained to him. "She does the same thing with the fishermen here."

James came next. Before anyone could react, Panama lashed out with a massive paw and tore through the sleeve of his duster. Derek was about to apologize and ask if James was all right when he noticed the complicated machinery that was where his arm should have been. "Does that thing shoot lasers?" he asked, hoping to defuse the tension. James simply shook his head and yanked off the rest of the sleeve.

Panama avoided Sven, probably because he smelled like he was about to spontaneously combust. The man wasn't really interested in the Yao-Guai anyways. Instead, he was eyeballing the fleet of vehicles stored in the hangar along with the vertibird. "And these _all_ have fission reactors?" he demanded.

Derek didn't answer that question, for fear of what might happen if he did. Instead, he ushered the four men out of the hangar and shut off the lights. Olivia sang a goodbye tune to Panama and hurried after them. The beast simply curled back up in her nest and went back to sleep.

The group went into another room, this one occupied by various half-built robots and Mato, Derek's personal sentrybot. "Don't touch him," He warned the four of them, looking extra-long at Sven to drive the point home. "Now, Justice, Olivia, and I need to go make sure that we're the only ones down here. What we're going to show you is incredibly dangerous, so security is paramount. Wait here while we're gone, please. It won't be too long." With a nod from both James and Adam, the three of them left the room.

Sven immediately scurried over the inert Mato and began poking it all over to spite Derek's orders.

"Sven," Carl admonished him from across the room. "Is that really how you want to start things here? It's a long way back to New York."

The pyromaniac grumbled and heaved his gear onto one of the desks in the room. "I don't like him," he declared as he worked his sore shoulders. "He's too serious, and he talks too much. And he won't give me any fission batteries!"

"He _does_ talk a lot," Adam agreed, sitting in a corner and facing the others. "And he still seems to think he can order us around."

"To be fair," James said calmly from his position by the door, "this _is_ his settlement. We, that is, Regulators in general, are here because he says we can be." As he spoke, his metal fist absently clenched and unclenched. "And everything he says is said for a reason, even if it is a bit wordy."

The three men then looked to Carl, who was listening quietly. The big man shrugged his shoulders. "If he's being honest with us, then that means we're here to do something important. That's enough for me." Adam and James nodded, agreeing that this was a sane position. Sven shrugged in response and went back to poking Mato.

All four were startled when the door opened and a young girl slipped inside. She looked up at the three men with wide, fearful eyes and whimpered softly. She pressed her back against the door, too petrified by her fear of the strangers to try and get away. The four Regulators looked at each other, then back at the girl, who was doing her best to watch all of them at once.

"Carl, this is your thing," Adam said from across the room. The girl's eyes snapped to him as soon as the words left his mouth. Carl sighed and moved slowly over to her, trying to look as unthreatening as a six-plus-foot frame allowed. He moved so cautiously the girl took a moment to notice his advance at all, but when she did, she locked her eyes on him and backed into the far corner, huddling against the wall like she could fade into it.

"Careful," Sven warned Carl as he drew close to her. "She could have a grenade."

Carl stopped for a second to glance quizzically at Sven. "Why would she have a grenade?"

Sven shrugged. "It's what I would do."

The big man sighed and squatted down, trying to get to eye-level with the frightened girl. He was still a head-taller than her, but it would have to do. He reached out a big hand and smiled at her. "My name is Carl," he said in a soothing tone. "My friends and I are here to help Derek. Do you know him?"

Still fearful, the girl nodded.

"What's your name?" Carl asked, offering his hand again, hoping she'd shake it.

"S-Slave…" the girl answered, still cowering.

Carl's hand remained where it was, because he was stunned for the moment. At a loss for words, he looked to the others for help, but their looks of concern and confusion mirrored his. Carl, after a moment of thought, reached out and grasped the girl's arm. She shrieked and struggled like his touch was burning her, causing him to quickly let go. At that, Adam grunted and drew a knife from one of his many sheaths. Sven moved over to his pile of gear and started rooting through it for the right explosives. James' metal arm clenched into a fist. Carl stood and went for his hammer. "I've changed my mind," he decided aloud. "I don't like him."

Derek stepped into the room first. "Sorry, that took a little longer than exp-" was as far as he got before a large fist smashed into his face. His feet left the ground, and he flew a few feet before landing in a jumbled heap among some machine parts. Olivia, who was behind him, was about to protest, before noticing the large rifle James had pointed at her.

"One chance," Adam said in a dangerously calm voice. "Explain…" he had been about to say explain the slave girl, but his voice trailed off as the girl in question did the unexpected. A moment before, she had still been cowering in the corner. But she had cried out at seeing Derek get struck by Carl, and had rushed to his side. All four of the Liberators watched as Derek groaned and sat up, a large purple bruise sprouting on his face, only to fade just as quickly. The girl wrapped her arms around him and began crying into his shoulder. He hugged her back, not looking at anyone else.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked, the concern plain in his voice. Slave shook her head. "Did they touch you?" This time she nodded. "It's all right," he said, patting her back. "They're not going to take you away. I'm all right, I promise. Let go of me though, I need to stand up now." The girl, Slave, nodded and released him, still sniffling. He stood and rubbed his face where Carl had hit him, wincing. "You have a mean punch," he said to the big man. "Now where were we?"

"She's not a slave?" James asked, lowering his rifle.

"Who? Her? Oh, no, that's just the name she picked. Believe me, I've tried to get her to find a different one, but she has her heart set on it, for whatever reason," Derek explained, shrugging. "Isn't that right?" he asked the girl, who was now hiding behind his legs and glaring at Carl. She nodded furiously. "So that's why you hit me?" he asked Carl. "Damn, I'm going to be feeling this for days."

"You should be out cold for days," Adam murmured, staring at where his bruise had been.

"Anyways! We should really get on with the explanations. I know you're all curious about my strange taste in women, but it will have to wait. The basement won't be clear for long. You need to see what I have to show you." Without waiting for an answer, Derek turned and pushed past Carl, Slave hugging his other side and glaring at the large man. He led the way out the door, and the confused Liberators followed.

The group went through several dark passages, some flooded, others caved in at parts, a few without any lights at all. But despite the seeming maze-like qualities of Carew Tower's basement, Derek was sure of his way and led them confidently. Finally, they came to a dimly-lit corridor, at the end of which was an unassuming service elevator. Derek pressed the button to summon the elevator, and the lights in the hallway went out. "To everyone else in the tower, this is all that happens when you press that button. To us, however, pressing it again…" he did so, turning the lights came back on and opening the elevator doors.

Everyone filed inside, and soon they were traveling even further downwards. On one side of the elevator was a depth gauge, and from what James could see, they were over 1000 feet down already. Thirty seconds, and 500 feet, later, the doors slid open again. The Liberators were speechless at the sight before them as they stepped onto the long steel gangplank. "This is Unity," Derek explained. "This is why you're here."

The group was standing on an observation deck that overlooked a vast underground bunker, similar to a Vault. On the floor, far below them, the word "Unity" was printed in large, black letters. And on the opposite wall, huge metal beams securely held an entire arsenal of nuclear missiles.

* * *

**As always, review lots and lots! I hope you enjoyed.**


End file.
